My Paper Heart
by MarblePlum
Summary: Silver's making a movie about a certain lacrosse player, and they prove to be a perfect team on and off the field. Navid and Adrianna play sitters, as Naomi and Ozzie play at not liking each other.
1. Chapter 1

**My Paper Heart**

Author's Note: Hello! Well, this is my first try at a 90210 fanfic. I'm a huge fan of the old one, and the new one's definitely a guilty pleasure. I prefer class 90210, but I really am growing fond of the revamped series. I simply adore Silver. I've always liked Erin, even when she was blonde and a baby, but she's definitely someone I'd hang with now.

This story centers on her and her relationship with Dixon, which is my favorite canon ship on the show. It's set when Silver is living with Annie and Dixon after she leaves the shelter and essentially has nowhere to go. She's been there for two weeks. Dixon and Silver are only friends at this point for the sake of the story. I'm playing with the timeline for the other plots The other plots concern Navid/Adrianna, after Adrianna meets Navid's family, and Ozzie/Naomi after they meet in detention. Dropped along the way are mentions of Ethan and Annie working together for their home ec assignment, where they're taking care of a fake baby together. Navid isn't in the class. Everything else is canon, taking place within the series, so if I mention a fact here and there, it's because I'm filling in the world of the story. I anticipate this being only six to seven chapters, with a main focus on Silver. All the POVs are from the girls. I love Navid, Dixon, and Ozzie, but it's easier. :P It's my first 90210 fic so I hope you read and review. And be gentle. J

**Summary: Silver's making a movie about a certain lacrosse player, and they prove to be a perfect team on and off the field. Navid and Adrianna play sitters, while Ozzie and Naomi play at not liking each other.**

_Please just don't play with me  
My paper heart will bleed  
This wait for destiny won't do  
Be with me, please I beseech you  
Simple things, that make you run away  
Catch you if I can_

_Tears fall, down your face  
The taste is something new  
Something that  
I know moving on is, easiest when I am a-round you  
So bottle up old love, throw it out to sea  
Watch it away as you cry  
A year has passed  
The seasons go_

_Please just don't play with me  
My paper heart will bleed  
This wait for destiny won't do  
Be with me, please have beseech you  
Simple things, that make you run away  
Catch you if I can_

_Waiting, day goes through  
My lips are sealed for her  
My tongue is tied to a dream of being with you  
To settle for less is not what I prefer_

_So bottle up old love, throw it out to sea  
Watch it away as you cry  
A year has passed  
The seasons go_

_Please just don't play with me  
My paper heart will bleed  
This wait for destiny won't do  
Be with me, please i beseech you  
Simple things, that make you run away  
Catch you if I can_

_(bop bob bop la la la la x3)  
Summertime, the nights, so long  
The leaves fall down, so do I into the arms of a friend  
Winter nights  
My bedside is cold, for I am gone  
Spring blossoms you to me_

_Summertime, the nights they are so long  
The leaves fall down, so do I into the arms of a friend  
Winter nights  
My bedside is cold, for I am gone  
And spring blossoms you...  
To me_

My Paper Heart is the property of the All-American Rejects.

**I. My Paper Heart**

Wrapping her dark blue robe around her frame, Silver delicately places her hand on the knob. She's hoping the room on the other side is empty so that she won't have anything on her mind. At the shelter, her thoughts were always running and she was constantly surrounded by the other women. In the shower, memories would take shape: shards of bottles on the kitchen floor tiles; the answering machine blinking red from unanswered calls, usually from Kelly or Mel; her mother closing the door in her face. Silver would shiver under the water even though the water was warm and fresh. She's hoping for a much different shower this morning.

The Wilsons were kind enough to let her sleep at their home. Annie apologized for her father's lame jokes and her mother consistently checking up on Silver, but she didn't have to apologize at all. It is nice to be looked at for the right reasons, to be noticed at all.

So far as she can see, the only catch to living in the house was the shared bathroom. She'd only ever shared a home with two guys before, her brother David who let her stay with him and his wife Donna for a couple of weekends in Palm Springs, and then her father, who didn't live with her after she hit puberty. They were married, though. Actually, Mel was remarried. She'd see if he stayed loyal to this one. Dixon is not married, and definitely not related to her. Thank goodness. No, she scolds herself. Don't think it. Having a romance under the same roof, and with her best friend's brother, could be so complicated. Just don't think it.

She twists the knob and is relieved to view a vacant bathroom. Annie's cherry-colored toothbrush and white peach Caress body wash is to the left, and Dixon's blue electric toothbrush and cologne are to the right. She smiles at the cologne, reads the name, and jumps when she hears a click from the opposite door.

"Hello?" he says, not entering yet. "Annie?"

Shifting her robe slightly, she stares at herself in the mirror and decides she looks presentable. Well, for this hour in the day.

"No…it's not Annie," replies Silver.

"Oh…oh, my bad," says Dixon.

"Um, you can come in and get what you need," assures Silver. "I'm covered up."

"Dang, does that mean I should've come in earlier?" kids Dixon, parting the door to see her.

"Heh," returns Silver. "You'd just be five minutes earlier for a slap."

"Dodged that bullet," says Dixon, turning on the sink.

Silver grins as he bends down to wash his face. He was wearing a Kansas T-shirt and black sweat pants. She wonders if nice, good-looking guys were typical of Kansas. The way he talked to her and treated her was, and is, a rare find in Beverly Hills, that's for sure. Dixon wipes his brow with a towel and stares at her.

"How's it going?" asks Dixon.

"I still kinda feel like I'm putting you guys out," confesses Silver.

It's true. She only intended to stay for the first night to clear her head, thank them for their hospitality and move in to Kelly's. Nobody pressed her, however. That didn't mean that she hasn't been considering leaving soon. Kelly kept reminding her that her house was an option, and Silver loved her nephew Sammy.

"Why would I want you out?" says Dixon. "You're way cleaner than Annie."

Silver shrugs. "Yeah?"

"The long hair," says Dixon, pointing to his own. "Find it everywhere."

She laughs. Annie did have hair for days. Personally, she likes the length of hers and secretly wouldn't mind if he liked it too.

"It's gonna be weird if you leave," continues Dixon. "Getting used to having you around."

Her cheeks go pink and she hates that they do. You'd think she could remain composed for a little longer than ten minutes. She is used to being around him, and she may be liking it more than she should.

"You could get to the shower quicker," says Silver.

"I can wait," says Dixon, smiling widely. "Speaking of which, it is a school day so…"

"A not so subtle attempt to do what I need to do," interjects Silver. "Give me eleven."

"Eleven?" says Dixon.

"Ten minutes to shower," explains Silver. "One, just to mess with you."

"You're lucky I'm nice," laughs Dixon, closing the door behind him.

Yes, she certainly is.

II.

"Where's your kid?" questions Silver, reaching for the orange juice.

Annie spreads some jelly on her toast and yawns. She was still not adjusted to the new schedule the three of them had worked out. Dixon and Silver liked getting to school early so they agreed with Annie that leaving at eight fifteen would be best. She called them both geeks, but eventually gave in.

"On the floor," replies Annie, glancing at the floor briefly.

"Does it have a name?" says Silver, peering at the plastic baby as well.

"Umm….it," answers Annie.

She chomps on her toast and checks her cell. Ethan was supposedly going to relieve Annie of her motherly duties after Mr. Matthews' class. At least Annie knew where their child was today. Yesterday, the baby had to be rescued from the hamper where her mom Debbie found her, or him…Silver didn't know which it was, but "It" is wearing a cute pink onesie.

Harry, in a crisp, handsome tan suit, and Dixon, in a button down green shirt and jeans, enter the kitchen. Tabitha follows.

"Where's the vodka?" asks Tabitha.

Annie chokes on her juice.

"Mom, it's too early for that," replies Harry.

"It's also too early for you to have grey hair, but I see a couple," says Tabitha. "I'll go ask your wife."

Harry rolls his eyes. If Silver's learned anything during these past few days, it's that Tabitha seldom took no for an answer. Silver suspects she's got some great stories to tell, though she'd feel strange probing her. Things are different with her blog. Silver doesn't hold back. Unleashing her individual beliefs and passions is therapeutic. Someone would be hearing her voice more than her mother did, and maybe appreciate it. Her page gets a lot of hits. Thus, some of her classmates must care about deeper issues than the latest sale at Gucci or how many of Angelina Jolie's children were seen at LAX.

"Don't tell me you're getting negligent again," teases Dixon, taking a seat next to Silver.

"On the floor," defends Annie.

"Cause that's safe," returns Dixon.

Annie groans and picks up the baby, makes it sit next to her plate.

"There," sighs Annie. "Happy now?"

The baby falls head first into the table. Harry smirks.

"Very," says Dixon, shaking his head.

"So what are you two doing in your classes?" says Harry, staring at Dixon and Silver. "Not something dealing with child-rearing, I'd wager."

"Dad," moans Annie. "Nobody wants to talk about…."

"No, it's okay," says Silver. "Um, we're creating multimedia projects in my film lab. Navid's doing an introspective mockumentary, aspiring to be the next Michael Moore, and I'm…completely without inspiration."

"You, without inspiration?" says Dixon. "The girl who blogs incessantly?"

Wait. That means he'd actually visited her page, right?

"Wait, you read it?" inquires Silver.

"Natch. We all do," assures Annie. "Why not do a do an actual documentary on the school? You write about it enough."

Would that work? She's not particularly fond of any of the cliques at West Beverly, or most of the extra-curricular activities. This attitude sort of served her well as she maintained an impartial view on her blog postings. Really, it's been her life's attitude too.

"Just find something you're passionate about, and I'm confident you'll ace the project," guarantees Harry.

They remain silent as they eat the rest of their breakfasts in a hurry. Tabitha walks breezily through the room and locates her purse.

"I'm going," announces Tabitha.

"Where?" says Harry.

"You know where," says Tabitha, heading to the front door.

Harry swirls his orange juice with a disgruntled noise and rises. The three teenagers rise, certain Tabitha would return from her vodka run with success. Annie did ask Silver if Tabitha's comments bothered her, but they didn't honestly. Tabitha's blunt humor made Silver like her so a few comments about her choice of drinks didn't faze her.

Dixon stands by Silver and leans in.

"Call shotgun," he whispers.

Silver twists her lips and grabs her backpack.

"Shotgun," says Silver.

"Ooof," moans Annie. "That leaves me and Baby Cry-A-Lot in the back."

"Yeah," says Silver. "Sorry."

She and Dixon walk to the foyer, Annie trailing behind with an exasperated expression.

"Hmmm," says Annie. "Why do I get the feeling this was planned?"

Neither Silver nor Dixon denies it.

III.

Naomi Clark positions the rear view mirror and plays frantically with her hair. She had made it a habit to do this ever since Adrianna's mother said her hair looked better straight. Why would you say that to a sixteen-year old? Whatever. The curls are totally working today. She needs them to work.

Ethan and Annie are getting a little too close for comfort, and by that she means that they're always talking secretively in corners or laughing loudly together or faux flirting. That's what Kansas girls must do—faux flirt. She doesn't know. She hasn't been anywhere near there. But if she has her way, and she usually does, Ethan won't be anywhere near "Kansas", Naomi's not so lovey-dovey nickname for the Wilson daughter.

Grabbing her bag, and again admiring how cute the clasp of it looks, Naomi leaves her car and locks it. She starts to text Adrianna as she walks through the parking lot. They weren't best friends, or as best as they were before her rehab, though they are trying to get to closer in any case. Adrianna's with Navid. Surprise, surprise. That was a couple she didn't mind leaving alone. No, they were cute. Plus Adrianna could totally wear the pants in that relationship. She's all for that.

"Been cutting detention lately?" says a voice to her left.

That's a voice she hasn't heard in a week. She can't say she misses the proximity of it, yet he scores points for being cute. Ozzie rights his black fedora and smiles at Naomi. His silk black shirt over a white tee, and pressed tan pants were increasing his score. But it still wouldn't help _him _score.

"My days of being in the same room as the unwashed delinquents of the school were numbered," informs Naomi, tucking away her T-Mobile. "Time's up. I'm free. Call me Nicole Richie."

"Nah, I couldn't," says Ozzie. "You're tall and you have curves."

Naomi shakes her head, glances at the sky, then at him.

"Want me to call you when I get some more?" returns Naomi, walking past him.

"Or you could just call me," answers Ozzie.

She pauses and whirls around.

"Listen, okay," says Naomi, getting a bit closer. "We may have exchanged some not so bad banter in Espanol, and am I repulsed by you? No. But…"

"That's good to hear," interrupts Ozzie.

"But," continues Naomi with a sigh, "Under no circumstances am I available. Capiche?"

"Comprende," says Ozzie with a smile. "Although, that's not what I heard."

Didn't this guy get it? Everybody is very aware of her history with Ethan, and everybody knows it's only a matter of time before they're back. Sure, there were fights, and Ethan wasn't exactly loyal, but there was this flame, and it isn't being doused for a guy she met in detention.

"Alright, then," says Naomi. "I'm not available…to you."

"Let me make a proposal," says Ozzie.

"Oh, for the love of….," starts Naomi.

"Eh," interjects Ozzie. "If you have no plans this afternoon, following my detention, I take you to my dad's restaurant. You scan the menu, see how handsome I am after hours, and order. I bask in the glow of your newfound appreciation for me. Then, I drive you home."

"Trust me," says Naomi, nodding. "I'll have plans."

"We'll see, mami," sighs Ozzie, bowing and strolling away from her.

Of course, she'll have plans, and if she doesn't, she'll make some. She's Naomi Clark. Ugh, he is way too cocky walking away from her like that. Naomi fluffs her hair, not calmly anymore, from frustration.

"Hey!" she yells after him. "Don't call me mami! I am not your mami!"

A few girls carrying cappuccinos laugh at her comment.

He blows a kiss in her direction and disappears into the school. Ugh, and he made her miss "accidentally" running into Ethan before homeroom. Why did she always stay and talk with him? She should ignore him. Naomi shakes herself and returns to the normal, collected Naomi. She walks by Lamborghinis, BMWs, and Ferraris. No one can distract her, not even a flirt with a fedora.

IV.

"I have something for you," teases Adrianna, dangling the DVD set in front of Navid.

"No way!" cries Navid. "No way!"

Oh, it's way. She had to order it online because the thing is so rare. But Navid, of all people, deserves this from her. Plus he told her he liked it on fifty thousand separate occasions.

"The Martin Scorcese Golden Collection," says Adrianna. "Mmm hmm."

Navid takes it into his hands. It almost looks like he's tempted to smell it. Awwww. Adrianna laughs.

"Now we're even for the jellybeans," says Adrianna.

They kiss, Adrianna smiling while doing so. She couldn't help it. His lips were so smooth and the innocence of their first kiss had remained until their second, their third…it was always like the first.

"This goes beyond jellybeans," assures Navid. "If only film lab weren't starting in five."

"The future director wants to delay film lab," ponders Adrianna aloud. "What kind of influence am I having on you?"

"Well, my parents seem to like it," says Navid shyly.

Adrianna blushes. The Sharizis were so sweet to her. They asked when she was coming to visit again after her two visits to Navid's. His father showed her pictures of Persia and his mother shared their traditions with her. The last visit, they all gathered together to watch a film by Persian director Abbas Kiarostami. Navid had hoped his film style would rub off on him. His parents and sisters shared the popcorn with her like she was one of their own. They didn't see her as a dirty druggie or a daughter who disappointed them like her own mother did. She was an actress whose opinions they encouraged. Adrianna loved the film and that made her more eager to share. After all, they're sharing Navid with her on some level.

"Would your parents be opposed to me coming over this weekend?" says Adrianna hopefully.

Navid drops his gaze and starts fiddling with his digital camera.

"Might not be a good time," says Navid. "We're….redecorating. This weekend's going to be so hectic."

"Oh," says Adrianna. "How about we go somewhere, make it less hectic?"

"That's…not possible," says Navid, gesturing to the screen. "The film, you know."

She's starting to get the message, though the last time he was this confused, it wound up being nothing. He's a virgin? So what. He was hesitant about her meeting his family? So what. What other bomb could he drop if those are the worst? It probably is the truth. Probably.

"I can't knock you for cinematic aspirations," retreats Adrianna.

"Next weekend," says Navid, kissing her forehead. "Okay?"

"This is déjà vu," murmurs Adrianna, slumping in her chair.

"More like déjà poo," mutters Navid, barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" says Adrianna.

"Uh, I said, did you!" cries Navid. "Did you ever see _Gangs of New York_?"

Boy is he quick to change the subject. She'll go along with it, if only because Silver and other students are entering the classroom.

"Yeah, there were a lot of secrets in that movie," says Adrianna, raising her eyebrows.

"Really?" says Navid. "That's something."

V.

The bell rings deafeningly through the classroom as film lab ends. Rattled, their teacher, Mr. Cushman, starts fumbling with the DVD player to make it pause on a piece concerning yellow journalism. Silver paid attention as much as she could, but she already knew most of the technical terms and the historical references. She discovered them on her own and tried in vain to sketch an outline for her multimedia project. The paper is blank and she only has two weeks. This may be

her first failure since…ever, if the brain doesn't get to working.

"Ms. Silver, can I see you for a moment?" calls Mr. Cushman as students depart from the room.

Mr. Cushman was cool and called the kid "Miss" or "Mr." He already saw some of them as budding directors, producers, and screenwriters, Adrianna and another girl the sole actresses of the lot. He treated them as adults, or equals, to be more exact. Mr. Cushman did annoy her with the mini-conferences, though. They usually started the same.

"I'm seeing great work from you, Ms. Silver," says Mr. Cushman, not veering from his routine. "Great work."

"But?" urges Silver.

"Your blog was particularly…biting, today," says Mr. Cushman.

"Thanks," says Silver, smiling.

"Couldn't you…have a more hopeful slant once in a while?" asks Mr. Cushman. "A gentle touch?"

He paused when he was nervous. Silver didn't think today's blog was so bad. She did it during study hall.

"The cheerleaders are actively seeking sponsors, Mr. Cushman. Sponsors that were promised participants in focus groups by our cheerleaders. Focus group for make-up products that include animal ingredients," informs Silver. "I'm sure Chanel can afford to have an organic section."

"I know your views," says Mr. Cushman, defensively. "I read the blog."

"Well, good," says Silver. "And make sure to tell your daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if they go after the junior high girls next."

"Hmmm, I'm sure I'll be seeing some of this passion in your project," says Mr. Cushman.

"Um, if I knew what I was doing," admits Silver.

"Might I suggest doing something else on the school?" says Mr. Cushman. "Something less controversial. Ah, one of my most successful students did a stunning documentary on the basketball team's race to the regionals."

Silver grimaces. "Sports?"

"It would allow you to step outside the box, grow as an artiste," encourages Mr. Cushman. "You don't want to be a one-trick pony in this day and age."

"There's a better chance of me directing _The House Bunny_ than me finding passion as I shoot a sports documentary," informs Silver, holding her notebook to her chest.

"Try something new, Ms. Silver," says Mr. Cushman as he pats her shoulder. "You might like it."

"Ummm…."

"I thought I'd hate the _Scream_ movies and I ended up loving them," says Mr. Cushman. "What a delight they were. How they played on the different horror film clichés…"

Yeah, he can stop there. She's seen _Scream_ too many times to count. Besides, there were way better films and she doesn't feel like debating when she should be writing.

"Can't direct from the classroom, so yeah," says Silver as pleasant as she can say it.

"Most certainly," says Mr. Cushman.

He steps to the aside and she leaves the room. She doesn't get very far, doing a gentle "Ah!" as she leans against the locker. Her life is already so new, with the living arrangement at the Wilson's, with being away from her mother. Can't some things say the same? She's not quite sure she's ready for any more new things.

"Hey!" calls someone at the other end of the hall. "You're going to be late for class!"

Dixon comes a bit closer and taps his watch. Silver sighs and joins him in the center.

"So are you," says Silver.

"Nope," says Dixon. "Free period. Not that it's free. I'm trying to track down Annie's kid."

"Wow," laughs Silver.

"Ethan lost it actually," laughs Dixon. "What are you going to do, right? We have lacrosse practice after school so we have to find it before that."

"Lacrosse?" says Silver to herself.

"Yeah, I may have mentioned it a few times?" says Dixon, his brow wrinkling in amusement.

"Lacrosse is a sport," says Silver, nodding. "Yeah…yeah. And it's not as cliché as a football or basketball documentary or…"

"What's…what's wrong with basketball?" stammers Dixon, Silver dragging him down the hall. "Hey!"

"You're going to make me the hottest young female filmmaker since Sofia Coppola," says Silver.

This is an opportunity to shush Mr. Cushman and earn an A. He'd never see this coming from her.

"Sofia who?" says Dixon.

"Just say you'll do it," says Silver, with more enthusiasm than she's had all day. "Please."

Dixon sighs dramatically, and smiles.

"I'll do it."


	2. Miss Independent

**II. Miss Independent**

_Miss independent  
Miss self-sufficient  
Miss keep your distance  
Miss unafraid  
Miss out of my way  
Miss don't let a man interfere, no  
Miss on her own  
Miss almost grown  
Miss never let a man help her off her throne  
So, by keeping her heart protected  
She'd never ever feel rejected  
Little miss apprehensive  
Said ooh, she fell in love_

_What is the feelin' takin' over?  
Thinkin' no one could open my door  
Surprise...It's time  
To feel what's real  
What happened to Miss Independent?  
No more the need to be defensive  
Goodbye, old you  
When love is true_

_Misguided heart  
Miss play it smart  
Miss if you want to use that line you better not start, no  
But she miscalculated  
She didn't want to end up jaded  
And this miss decided not to miss out on true love  
So, by changing her misconceptions  
She went in a new direction  
And found inside she felt a connection  
She fell in love._

_What is the feelin' takin' over?  
Thinkin' no one could open my door (open my door)  
Surprise...It's time (yeah)  
To feel what's real  
What happened to Miss Independent?  
No more the need to be defensive  
Goodbye (goodbye), old you (oh you)  
When love, when love is true_

_When Miss Independence walked away  
No time for love that came her way  
She looked in the mirror and thought today  
What happened to miss no longer afraid?  
It took some time for her to see  
How beautiful love could truly be  
No more talk of why can't that be me  
I'm so glad I finally feel..._

_What is the feelin' takin' over?  
Thinkin' no one could open my door  
Surprise (surprise), it's time (yeah)  
To feel (to feel) what's real  
What happened to Miss Independent?  
No more the need to be defensive  
Goodbye (goodbye), old you  
When love, when love is true..._

**Miss Independent is the property of Kelly Clarkson.**

The field is full of hormonal, sweating, panting athletes, but her mini-camcorder is focused on the journey of a drunk-looking ladybug. Silver zooms in as it stops in the middle of a bench, the lacrosse scrimmage echoing loudly past the bleachers. It's not that she doesn't enjoy a good scrimmage, Dixon having to tell her what the word meant. She just wishes she knew what the heck was going on. As soon as she hits the Wilsons', she'd download the rules and history of this sport, be an authority on lacrosse. Why is it called lacrosse?

"Hey, Spielberg!" calls Dixon from below.

Silver removes her blue eye from the eyepiece.

"Ditching the doc already for a bug expose?" says Dixon.

"Ladybugs lead very interesting lives," says Silver, standing and going down the bleachers. "Plus, I'm…lost."

She hates admitting her ignorance, especially since Dixon seemed to be gung-ho about the project once she explained it to him. That surprised her. Annie's the one with the entertainment goals, not him. Then, he kindly explained that it would be an amazing keepsake to show his parents. Apparently, athletes love to relive their glorious memories months or years later. It must be why Muhammad Ali okayed that Will Smith biopic.

"Why do they call it lacrosse?" asks Silver, reaching the first row of the bleachers.

"Dad says it's the oldest team sport in the U.S.," shrugs Dixon. "Then, he said that it was played by Native Americans, and the French saw it and called it _le jeu de la crosse_. That's all I can give ya."

"Interesting," muses Silver.

"Really?" says Dixon, laughing.

"No, that was a genuine interesting," says Silver. "I wouldn't use a fake one with you. Maybe when your sister's extolling the virtues of smudge free mascara…."

Dixon grins and goes to retrieve his water bottle. Harry Wilson was congratulating the other players on their teamwork.

"I like to hear how stuff starts," continues Silver.

"How are you going to start the film?" inquires Dixon.

Wow, it's like he's two steps ahead. She can't claim ignorance with this subject. This should be her area of knowledge. Well, the best documentary she ever saw started off with….

"An interview!" answers Silver.

"Uh, I'll get Dad or Ethan or….," begins Dixon, nervously.

"Come on," says Silver, pointing her camera at him after turning it on. "This is your moment to be up close and personal, be in the spotlight."

"Annie is the 'wanting to be in the spotlight' type," sighs Dixon. "As long as you don't show me upchucking after a game, I'm good."

Silver smirks and turns the power off. There's something endearing about a guy that doesn't have to be the center of attention.

"I found it!" yells a piercing voice across the field.

She and Dixon turn towards the pleased cry, identifying Ethan among the similarly clad teen boys. They circle around him, a peach object being thrust into the sky. The boys whoop energetically as the plastic baby goes back and forth. Harry looks peeved. Silver arches an eyebrow.

The scrimmage is obviously over, the throng of guys starting towards Silver and Dixon. She's guessing Ethan found it in his duffel bag as he grabs it before heading to the bleachers. The baby cries loudly, Ethan trying to shush it.

"Parents of the year," says Silver, sliding under the rail and onto the paved ground.

"Dix! Silver!" greets Ethan, jogging to them and holding the now quiet infant.

"So you just stuffed him in there?" says Dixon.

"Hey, at least I paid enough attention to it to finally figure out the gender," defends Ethan, then turning to his teammates. "And…it's a boy!"

"Boy! Boy! Boy!" chant the guys, Ethan raising his son in triumph.

"Suddenly everything else in life seems so meaningless," says Silver, elbowing Dixon.

Shaking her head, Silver starts to pack up her camera. Today hasn't proved to be productive, especially since she had no clue what to film. Okay, there was a reason why she selected Dixon for help. She has to utilize the sources she has. That would mean talking to him, talking to him without it getting weird. He can't be a crush when she's manning her camera. Yes, it has to be completely professional.

"Rubber," says Dixon, coming up from behind her.

"Ewww," remarks Silver. "Sexual much?"

"No," laughs Dixon, presenting her with a ball. "It's rubber. Hold it."

"Oh," says Silver, blushing as she accepts it.

It's a little heavier than she expected. She revolves it in her grip and hands it back. Dixon jogs to mid-field and returns quickly with another item. Silver holds that too, weaving her fingers into the small net at the head of the stick.

"Lacrosse stick or racket," says Dixon, putting his arms on each of her arms to get her to angle it correctly.

She fights the urge to smile, allow him to see that she's enjoying this body to body contact more than the body contact of the confusing scrimmage. His fingers are smooth and strong, voice soft against her neck.

"How's it feel?" says Dixon.

"Not…not bad," replies Silver, ignoring his gaze.

"You'll be playing on a team in no time," kids Dixon.

"I film, don't follow," remarks Silver. "Extra-curriculars? Not on the agenda."

"Alright," concedes Dixon. "Though, if you wait around, me offering you a ride home could be on the agenda. Annie's got play rehearsals."

Silver parks her butt on a nearby bench.

"Penciling it in," says Silver.

Dixon retreats to the lockerroom with Ethan and the other boys. That's one sweaty body she'd like to focus her attention on. Ugh, she almost wants to slap herself with the racket she's still holding. She puts the small ball into the net and flings it forward. The ball goes pretty far across the empty field, which gives her a quiet thrill.

II.

He comes around the corner like clockwork. Naomi congratulates herself on remembering his schedule. Usually, exes made it a point to forget, but she and Ethan weren't regular exes. No, he comforted her vafter her parents' incredibly immature antics as they went through their divorce. He always took her phone calls and acknowledged her when they were in the halls. If everything adds up, they can be together by Homecoming. Why would he take Annie? She's probably used to square dances, with hay bale mazes and scarecrow decorations. Luckily, she heard Adrianna say that the Beverly Hills equivalent of Dorothy has play rehearsal. Too bad for her, because I'm definitely moving in, thinks Naomi.

"Ethan!" greets Naomi as he locates his locker.

She walks to him, playfully squeezes his shoulder.

"Mmm, lacrosse," says Naomi. "Rippling, sweaty muscles. Best sport ever."

"Hey," says Ethan, grinning. "What are you doing hanging here after school?"

"Emergency…Spanish cram session," lies Naomi.

"That's one of your best courses," notes Ethan.

Yeah, it is, moans Naomi inwardly. It's cute that he remembered, though not so cute that he figured out that she was lying.

"I was doing something good for the others, sharing my expertise," says Naomi. "So how's Stephen?"

Ethan instantly perks up at the mention of his brother. She really does miss spending time with the two of them. Stephen, like his brother, was a good listener and still very special to her.

"He's had a lot of good days lately," answers Ethan. "I'm heading home if you want to…."

Loud, consistent screams sound from his duffel bag. Naomi stares at the zipper in alarm. The noise is horrible. Ethan clicks his tongue and takes the baby out, holding him by the neck. An exasperated shriek comes from down the hall, the auditorium doors clattering in Annie's wake.

"What's wrong with it now?" sighs Annie.

"Hello?" says Naomi pointedly. "_We_ were talking!"

"I don't know what's wrong with him," defends Ethan, trying to foist the baby on Annie.

"It's a girl," insists Annie.

"Um, I checked downstairs," returns Ethan. "Trust me. It's a he. Just because you put him in some pink get-up…"

"You want a naked baby? Fine!" says Annie, crossing her arms and walking away.

"He came with an outfit, that you didn't like," reminds Ethan, making Annie pause.

"I came from singing _Spring Awakening_ to check on her because I was worried, but screw me for caring. I'll just take the F and…"

Annie doesn't finish, continues her trek back to the auditorium.

"I can't fail, Annie!" cries Ethan, trailing her. "Naomi, I'll…I'll talk to you later, okay?"

No. Uh-uh. This is not happening. Annie came out of nowhere to destroy any chance of her being with Ethan. Suddenly, she hates babies.

"Ugh, what time is it?" says Naomi, checking her cell.

"Time to eat!" says Ozzie as he strolls out of a room two doors away.

He tips his fedora to the side and leans against Ethan's locker. It seems wrong, him standing there.

Naomi glares at him. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh, that's right," says Ozzie, tapping his chin. "You have plans. Well, what are they?"

The other students in detention exit the classroom and trickle by. She wouldn't give Ozzie the satisfaction of her announcing that she has no plans on a Friday evening. He probably knows it, too, the scruffily hot scuzzbucket.

"I'm going to…..," says Naomi, scanning the hall.

Quite a few people are taking notice. This isn't fair. Last year, she was a social butterfly. People were dying to go to her parties, to hang with her and Ethan. Now she's sort of single and thinking of imaginary scenarios that will make her look popular. She can either bite the bullet or wait for Ethan to become less parental. Also, there is this tiny part of her that would like to see the restaurant. The word is that Jennifer Lopez ate there once and said it was the hottest spot in the city. Most importantly, Ozzie's paying.

"My dad's restaurant?" fills in Ozzie, hopefully.

"As friends!" adds Naomi, loudly. "And..."

Ozzie delicately winds an arm around her waist. A few girls stare at Ozzie appreciatively, eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Because it's the hottest place to be on Friday night," says Naomi through gritted teeth.

"Really?" says Ozzie, putting her lips next to her cheek.

He has good breath and a dark, intense stare. Nevertheless, Naomi unfurls herself from his grip.

"Three feet away," commands Naomi as she pushes him to the side. "Yeah."

"Excellent!" praises Ozzie, rushing to hold open the door for her.

"Just to let you know, I don't eat carbs," whispers Naomi. "Publicly."

Ozzie beams. "I won't tell a soul."

III.

It's the world of potted plants. Flowers and foliage surround the office, her sister's very own little zen garden. Kelly Taylor strokes two branches of a bonsai and hums serenely. You'd never think her young life was full of drama, but she's heard stories. With their mom, is it a surprise? But she didn't come to talk Mom. She came to talk camera batteries.

Silver awkwardly shifts in her chair. She was hoping Mr. Cushman had a spare battery in the film lab stock. Unfortunately, Navid and everyone else had taken most of the extra equipment for their own projects. Finding her muse late came with a cost.

"How's Sammy?" speaks up Silver.

"Getting bigger and bigger by the day," replies Kelly with a smile. "He'd love to have his favorite underage relative around, though."

"I miss him, too," says Silver.

"You wouldn't have to miss him if you moved in," reprimands Kelly, sweetly.

"And…here…we…go," says Silver. "To paraphrase the late great Heath Ledger."

"The Wilsons are amazing, but family is family," says Kelly as she takes a seat.

"You so want a happy Gilmore Girls family existence," sighs Silver. "Two well-adjusted, aspirational women."

"You do remind me of Rory," admits Kelly. "And yes, I do like the show, but…I do think the arrangement would work."

So does she, yet she doesn't want to admit it. If she stays with Kelly, more and more reminders of their mother would spring up. The situation would call for it. Then, Kelly would get to talking about her and their past, say things that would make her see their mom in a different light. There was so much hurt, hurt they'd have to share. The whole thing is so annoyingly frustrating. It would be the one bad thing among so many other good things like spending time with her nephew, having a more easy-going home, and not watching her mother suffer.

"I'll think about it," promises Silver. "Right now, though, I need a battery for my mini cam. Any lying around your home?"

"Awww, I like photographs," says Kelly wistfully.

"You are so old school sometimes," complains Silver. "So no?"

"No," says Kelly. "Sorry. Did you ask the Wilsons?"

"I couldn't ask them for anything more," says Silver, more to herself. "I do have a spare…at home…"

"As in _home_ home?" asks Kelly.

Yes, it's in her old bedroom, under her _Carrie_ and _Exorcist_ movie posters. She can see it in her mind. Why didn't she grab it on the way out, not that there was really a chance.

"Kel, I'd be there for five minutes max," guesses Silver. "Besides, have you been keeping up with her? I haven't. You're not worried?"

"What I'm worried about is you!" remarks Kelly, her voice softening after she says this. "Sorry."

They were fighting about their mother, and they weren't even living together yet. How much would it intensify if they were under the same roof?

Kelly rises and puts her hand on Silver's shoulder. As the school counselor, it's probably partly instinctual. In any case, it's wholly comforting.

"I can't tell you what to do," says Kelly, softly. "All I can say is….please don't. Look, I can give you money for a new battery. Let me get my purse and…."

"No, I've…I've got an idea," interrupts Silver. "Can't believe I didn't consider it. I'm…I'm so set. Dixon's giving me a lift so I better get going."

"Sure?" says Kelly.

"Yeah," answers Silver, hugging her. "Thanks, sis. Tell Sammy I'll come by soon."

Kelly releases her reluctantly. Silver's face flushes red as she exits, the door shutting behind her. She really hopes Kelly doesn't notice. This isn't a coy kind of red like with Dixon. This is a red that would show what was under the surface, and what's under the surface are things she may not be prepared for.


	3. Welcome To My Life

**III. Welcome To My Life**

_Do you ever feel like breaking down?  
Do you ever feel out of place?  
Like somehow you just don't belong  
And no one understands you  
Do you ever wanna runaway?  
Do you lock yourself in your room?  
With the radio on turned up so loud  
That no one hears you screaming_

_No you don't know what it's like  
When nothing feels all right  
You don't know what it's like  
To be like me_

_To be hurt  
To feel lost  
To be left out in the dark  
To be kicked when you're down  
To feel like you've been pushed around  
To be on the edge of breaking down  
And no one's there to save you  
No you don't know what it's like  
Welcome to my life_

_Do you wanna be somebody else?  
Are you sick of feeling so left out?  
Are you desperate to find something more?  
Before your life is over  
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?  
Are you sick of everyone around?  
With their big fake smiles and stupid lies  
While deep inside you're bleeding_

_No you don't know what it's like  
When nothing feels all right  
You don't know what it's like  
To be like me_

_To be hurt  
To feel lost  
To be left out in the dark  
To be kicked when you're down  
To feel like you've been pushed around  
To be on the edge of breaking down  
And no one's there to save you  
No you don't know what it's like  
Welcome to my life_

_No one ever lied straight to your face  
No one ever stabbed you in the back  
You might think I'm happy but I'm not gonna be okay  
Everybody always gave you what you wanted  
Never had to work it was always there  
You don't know what it's like, what it's like_

_To be hurt  
To feel lost  
To be left out in the dark  
To be kicked when you're down  
To feel like you've been pushed around  
To be on the edge of breaking down  
And no one's there to save you  
No you don't know what it's like (what it's like)_

_To be hurt  
To feel lost  
To be left out in the dark  
To be kicked when you're down  
To feel like you've been pushed around  
To be on the edge of breaking down  
And no one's there to save you  
No you don't know what it's like  
Welcome to my life  
Welcome to my life  
Welcome to my life_

**Welcome To My Life is the property of Simple Plan.**

**Migra is the property of Santana.**

**Magdalenha is the property of Sergio Mendez.**

You'd never know what was going on inside. Maybe that's how Jackie likes it. The hedges were trimmed, the windows with designer drapes parted. Silver swears someone will walk by one day, like the mailman or the newsboy or their neighbor, say Mr. Hutchins with the two miniature poodles, and really feel a sense of emptiness surrounding the place. She felt it, especially the past two years. Silver never told Kelly, but she drove past her former house a couple times since her stay with the Wilsons. She'd take one deep breath, drive straight down the road, and release it when she got far enough so that she could view the house in her back windshield.

Kelly just didn't understand. Once you protect someone, for so long, it's instinct. Maybe it wasn't enough to get her to stop drinking, but she tried. Leaving her might be tough love. That doesn't mean her mind has strayed from her role as a daughter. You should be the daughter, Kelly would tell her. She should be looking after you. Well, that's easier in theory than it is in practice.

Dixon's car slowly crawls around the sidewalk. They were a few feet away from the house. Birds were chirping overhead. They had no idea what was going on. Neither did Dixon.

"Your brother has a cool house," says Dixon.

That was the lie she decided on, the guilt churning in her stomach after saying it. The lie wasn't so far-fetched as Silver remembered that David was really into making videos himself when he was her age and spun that into the fib. If she told Dixon where they really were, he'd want to talk and she's not quite ready to get that deep with him again. She just wants to go get the battery and check on her mom. It would take five minutes exactly.

"I'd introduce you, but that's...more of a dating......," says Silver, starting to turn pink.

She can't say boyfriend. This is great. It only takes about six seconds for things to turn awkward with him lately.

"Oh...yeah," says Dixon with a slight grin. "I'll be here."

"Thanks," says Silver.

Unclipping her seatbelt, she exits the car and starts across the lawn. Silver fidgets with a couple bangles as her feet get closer to the doorstep. The walk seems to take forever. Okay, if things were as they usually were, her mother would be home, but asleep. Jackie routinely slept most afternoons, and spent the rest of the night and the next day making the most of her leisure time. The leisure time included several martinis or shots from a bottle of gin or whatever drink Jackie Taylor had tucked away. Single and not entirely loving it, Silver would be in her room writing or reading, only to hear a shattering crash beyond the door, then run outside to see what was wrong. It was usually only a dropped bottle. Jackie cut her hands twice, trying to clean up herself, but Silver took over as her mother crid to herself. She's almost afraid to know what's beyond the door today. Silver tugs at her hair, sighs, and rings the doorbell.

"Come in!" shouts her mother. "It's open...it's open!"

Jackie sounds chipper....too chipper. Silver frowns and opens the door.

The sunlight gives a flattering tint to the room, highlighting the tan of the couch, the beige seats of the chairs near the desk, and the wooden mantelpiece. Similarly, it shines on Jackie's blonde locks as she has her back to Silver. Seeing her now, with over a month having passed, a smile comes to her face that Silver can't quite stop. It was sort of like when a parent meets their daughter at the bus station when their first Christmas college break brings them home. She is, technically, home.

"Hi, Mom," speaks up Silver.

Jackie whirls around, her balance shaky. Her body is covered in a red, silk robe, hair slightly messy.

"Oh," says Jackie, looking her up and down. "I thought you were someone else."

Silver's eyes burn as she attempts to keep a straight face. What a heartfelt greeting _that_ was, she thinks.

"Have some company coming over," informs Jackie.

"I came to pick up something from my room," says Silver.

"Get it then," waves off Jackie, sniffling and then hiccuping.

She passes the couch to get a better look at what her mother is doing. There's a half full glass of scotch and she's pouring more. Silver reaches for it.

"You stop it!" cries Jackie, batting her hand away and startling her.

"How much have you had?" asks Silver, trying her best to stay calm.

"What do you care?" chuckles Jackie. "You're in and out, just like your sister. Nobody cares what happens to Mom, right?"

Jackie walks by her, drinking from the glass. She smiles to herself and lounges on the couch. Her robe is slightly untied, showing a bit of her shaven leg. Silver's eyes grow wet. This is what she was sort of expecting, but all the same, it hurts to see it. Being separated from her isn't working any better than being with her.

"We do care," insists Silver, wiping her eyes.

"Billy's going to be here at any moment, so get what you came for, and skedaddle," says Jackie, taking another drink.

"Who's Billy?" cries Silver.

"A friend," answers Jackie, waving her hand dismissively.

Silver looks from side to side, staring at her mother incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that," says Jackie. "Your sister slowly became a prude too. Guess it's rubbing off on you."

"So this is how it is now?" says Silver. "Drunken trysts with a strange man, coming to see you in scantily clad clothes with a cocktail?"

"I'm all alone, Erin!" snaps Jackie.

"That makes it okay?" says Silver.

"At least he didn't abandon me!" shouts Jackie, shooting up and glaring at her harshly.

Silver puts her hands on her mouth to hide the fact that they're quivering. Things were getting worse. Should she have done something differently? What if she'd called David or her father or someone who could've decided what was best for their fractured family? For Kelly, the pain was too deep and the situation too familiar.

Jackie smirks and walks dizzily to the desk.

"I bet the Wilsons are the perfect influence," guesses Jackie. "I bet you've told them all sorts of embarrassing things about me."

"Mom, please," breathes Silver, shaking her head.

Setting her drink near a pencil sharpener, Jackie narrows her eyes as she peers through the window. Reluctantly, and anxious to toss the rest of her booze, Silver joins her. But Jackie isn't looking into space. Dixon is leaning against his car, hands shoved into his pocket, waiting for her. He must've gotten out to stretch his legs though Silver wishes he wouldn't have gotten out period.

"And look at who's getting on me for having some male companionship," laughs Jackie.

"It's not the same," insists Silver, her lips tightening.

"He's cute," says Jackie, nodding her approval. "Cute and black."

"Mom!" exclaims Silver as her eyes widen.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with it," defends Jackie. "I'm stating the obvious. God. I'm not a total monster, Erin."

She wasn't. As much as she would love for her to be this hateful, unforgiveable wretch so she could leave with no reservations, she is her mother. Why can't they go back? When she was four, five, six, things were so different. Jackie acted like Silver was her world. She'd entertain her with stories about being a model abroad, since Silver had always had an interest in travel. Her mother took her to the playground and they'd go on the swings, with Jackie pretending to be seven years old and Silver pretending that she was able to go above the trees if she got enough momentum.

"Mom, let us get you some help," begs Silver.

Her blue eyes meet her mother's. When you got up close, they looked so much alike. Everybody said so. But today, her mother's eyes are so vacant. They're as vacant as the room she used to sleep in, only a few steps away.

"How about you help yourself to whatever you came to get, and leave me alone, which you're so good at doing?" returns Jackie.

Silver's shoulders slump, her heart feeling like it fell into her gut. Her mother's rejected her and what she's done so many times, she can't keep count. She's so sick of trying when there's no giving. There's _no_ giving.

"Whatever you want," whispers Silver.

She bites her lip and heads across the floor, her feet noisy in the silence. A clear sob is heard. It sounds like her mother, and it almost sounds like she means it.

II.

"_Mama who bored me, Mama who gave me...no way to handle things, who made me so sad_," sings Annie.

She rocks the baby from side to side, then swings him by his left foot.

"I think you're boring your kid," mutters Ty, flipping through his script.

"Shut up," throws back Annie. "She's going to grow up and be the next Kristin Chenoweth."

"Then I really feel bad for your kid," speaks up Adrianna.

Most of her co-stars laugh, especially Ty. Annie gives them an offended stare and hugs the baby to her chest.

"Nobody understands theatrical triple threats," affirms Annie.

"And that's why she's an understudy," mutters Adrianna, then checking her cell.

Nope, no calls from Navid. She'd been texting him ever since rehearsal wrapped. Following the strange conversation in film lab, she tried to kiss him good-bye and was interrupted by the consistent buzzing of Navid's phone. He glanced at the number, rolled his eyes, and said he'd catch up with her later. Well, when was later going to be? She wanted to be off book by Sunday. That basically only left Saturday for them to spend any time together. They were still incredibly new so he couldn't have been tired of her already, right?

She shrugs and dons the earphones to her ipod. Navid introduced her to a few Persian musical groups and she has to say that she really likes them. The songs were very lively and cheered her up. They were much better than hearing what was being said about her through the rumor mill. Some speculated that she'd slept with every guy in rehab. Others said she pulled a Britney, shaved her head, and was now sporting a wig. They're just bored with their own lives, said Navid. He's the best at continual, mood-changing comfort. Is she leaning on him too much for comfort? She just doesn't want to botch this. She's been with talented guys, and met nice guys, but she's never dated a nice, talented guy.

Starting to exit the auditorium, Adrianna's purse snags onto the armrest of a seat. She moans and pulls at it, one of her earphones leaving her ear.

"Hey Adrianna!" greets George as he and Ethan make their way to the stage.

"Hey," says Adrianna hesitantly.

George isn't the most polite guy, and she and Ethan weren't talking as much since his break-up with Naomi. What did they want?

"Your nose is....looking very clean today," says George loudly, then guffawing.

A few choir members trade amused glances as Adrianna goes pale. Ethan hits George with a light slap at the back of the head. Brenda was talking to Principal Wilson in his office so there was no one there to reprimand him. Well, perhaps she's the right person for the job anyway.

"I wish I could say the same for your B.O.," sighs Adrianna. "You do take showers after practice, right, Ethan?"

The whole cast cracks up at Adrianna instead, George staring at them dumbly. Ethan laughs the most.

"Ooooh," says Annie, snapping her fingers geekily in George's direction.

"Dude!" cries George.

"What? It was funny," says Ethan, shrugging. "See ya, Adrianna."

"Bye," says Adrianna.

George frowns. Heh, loser.

"Use soap," whispers Adrianna, before going through the auditorium doors.

She takes off her earphones, hearing the creak of a door from a distance. Navid's lanky body is recognizable from there. Adrianna jogs to the door, barely going through before it closes.

"Navid!" she yells.

He throws a glance back at her, waves awkwardly. A wave? That's all she's going to get? She doesn't say anything else, watching a sleek, black Convertible pull up to Navid, his father in the driver's seat. Wearing a pricey, grey sweater, black slacks, and his full, dark moustache, Mr. Shirazi was an older, hotter version of Navid. Of course, she never told him this. After she yells his name again, Navid's sight goes from her to him, and she approaches them cautiously. Their conversation rises over the chatter of the last remaining students.

"You promised, Navid," sighs Mr. Shirazi.

"That was before I had a girlfriend, Dad," moans Navid.

Adrianna stops near the handicapped parking signs. They're discussing her? This wasn't the most opportune time to say hi, obviously.

"Do you know how lucky you are to....," begins Mr. Shirazi.

"Have such a large family," fills in Navid, rolling his eyes.

"So many people don't have what we have," says Mr. Shirazi, wagging his finger at him. "You know that's true. You _know_ that's true."

"Yes, Dad," says Navid.

"There's plenty of food for you and the girls until we get back," shares Mr. Shirazi. "Give Iman a kiss for me before you put her to bed?"

"I...will," promises Navid after a long pause.

Mr. Shirazi beckons Navid to him and attempts to give him a kiss. Navid shirks back, throwing an embarrassed stare at Adrianna, twisting the strap of her bag.

"Dad!" whispers Navid, urgently.

"Hi Adrianna!" greets Mr. Shirazi.

"Hi Mr. Shirazi!" returns Adrianna.

"We're going to my sister's wedding in San Francisco," shares Mr. Shirazi. "You remember her from the other week?"

No, thinks Adrianna. There were so many. Ugh, if she says the wrong name, he's going to think she's disrespectful or stupid. Adrianna provides him with a wide smile instead.

"Course you do," affirms Mr. Shirazi. "Actresses have good memory, eh, Navid?"

"Isn't...like, Mom waiting for you?" brings up Navid, hopefully.

"True, true," says Mr. Shirazi. "I'll see you Sunday afternoon. Nice seeing you, Adrianna."

"You too," says Adrianna.

Mr. Shirazi pulls off, his tires screeching slightly. Wow, her mom didn't drive like that. Navid runs his fingers through his hair and balls his fists together as he lowers his hands to his thighs. He looks defeated and annoyed at the same time. Should she speak? Better to try than not try.

"Baby-sitting duties again?" questions Adrianna.

"The second time this month," groans Navid. "I promised I'd do it next time, because I traded with my cousin that one weekend."

Standing in front of Adrianna, he lightly moves her hair behind her shoulders.

"I was really banking on spending Saturday with you, Ade, til this happened," says Navid. "My dad reminded me today."

"Hence the clamming up when I was grilling you," realizes Adrianna. "Navid...."

"This shouldn't be a regular reason for me not to be with you," insists Navid.

'I can deal," assures Adrianna.

'But...."

"I like your family, like for real," says Adrianna. "They're the sweetest people I've met in a long time, way better than the group in rehab."

"Okay," sighs Navid.

"Just be upfront with me," encourages Adrianna.

"Promise," says Navid.

"Are you only watching Iman?" asks Adrianna.

"My two little sisters," replies Navid.

"So you're basically outnumbered," says Adrianna, smiling. "Unless..."

She points to herself and grins sheepishly.

"Wait," laughs Navid. "You're offering to...."

"Yeah," says Adrianna. "It'd be two against two. You could use some time to work on your film."

Navid seems to consider it, opening his fists and clasping them near his mouth. She inwardly begs him to say yes. In the quiet moments, if there were any, she can study her script in their huge, inviting home rather than her lonely bedroom. Who knows? Maybe she could run lines with him, too. A boring weekend alone is nowhere near appealing.

"Alright," says Navid finally.

Adrianna chuckles and hugs him.

"I am so convincing," brags Adrianna.

Navid laughs and walks her to her car.

III.

_Migra Migra pinche Migra dejame en pas  
_

_Malicia veo en tus ojos desprecio en tu corazon_

_Malicia veo en tus ojos desprecio en tu corazon_

_Migra Migra pinche Migra dejame en pas_

Naomi squints her eyes at the radio, keeps them there until the first thirty seconds of the song go past. Booming drums and thundering trumpets spill from the speakers of Ozzie's car. It's joyous music and catchy. She refuses to tap her toes, though. Instead, she focuses on Ozzie singing along and stopping at a red light. He meets her gaze and she turns away.

"Well, this is certainly upbeat," comments Naomi, nodding to the radio.

"Why? You don't like it?" says Ozzie.

"I didn't say that," says Naomi. "It's just...not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?" asks Ozzie, smirking.

"Stuff you'd find on a normal teenage boy playlist," answers Naomi. "Rock n' roll. Alternative. Songs they put out in the last five years. Ethan, for example, loves hip hop."

"Ohhhh," says Ozzie. "So he has no taste."

"Ummm, he made me a mixtape, and some of them were more than decent," defends Naomi, frowning.

"Sorry," says Ozzie earnestly. "It's just...I like what I like."

"I get that," offers Naomi.

Funnily enough, she did. When she and Silver were friends, she had to get used to being around someone with very different tastes. She ended up enjoying most of the things she did with her former best friends. They were at that weird stage where experimenting with clothes and hair and make-up was fun, when people were judging them but they didn't care. Then, they drifted. Silver maintained being who she wanted to be, and Naomi started being what other people wanted her to be. She learned the ropes of L.A. from her new friends and her mom-- where to shop, who to be seen with, how to talk to boys. She left Silver behind and, once in a while, she regretted it. But you can't go back sometimes.

Ozzie lowers the radio.

"So we can talk," explains Ozzie.

"Who is that, anyway?" asks Naomi.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of the legendary Santana?" bristles Ozzie.

"Uh, duh," says Naomi sarcastically. "He did that track with Rob Thomas."

He stares at her with a small smirk, and they both laugh.

"He's done a lot more than that," says Ozzie.

"I'm sure he's done a lot of things," nods Naomi as the car swerves into a side street.

"He's never been here," says Ozzie. "Presenting...Desedada."

From the exterior, it's stunning. Palm streets sway in front of the black and gold decor, each window warmly lit by black lamps above the restaurant name. The place is packed, nicely dressed men and women chatting as they wait in line. An employee in a total black ensemble checks for reservations. It looks like a cross between an L.A. hotspot and an intimate cafe in South America.

"Ready?" says Ozzie.

Naomi unbuckles her seatbelt as Ozzie unlocks his door, only his door. What, is he planning on leaving her in the lot? Naomi rolls her eyes and starts to open the door, which Ozzie is quicker in doing. Naomi clicks her tongue.

"I'm not some damsel in distress," she says, getting out.

"I didn't say you were," says Ozzie, closing the door.

They walk to the entrance, some people in line complaining. Naomi stares guiltily at them for a second while Ozzie high-fives the host.

"You're lucky it's not you hosting tonight," says the boy, around their age.

"We'd be luckier if you let us in," encourages Ozzie.

"Fine, fine," sighs the boy. "Don't tell your Dad I don't do you any favors."

"Thanks, man," says Ozzie.

They enter, a few screeches of disgust behind them. Ozzie leads the way. The interior matches the beauty of the outside appearance. There are yellow lights everywhere, shimmering near the walls, on the muted lamps of tables, in the candles strewn around the room. Green and gold laterns frame the wooden booths. A firepit is near the back, delicious smells streaming to her nose. To her left is a dance floor, five couples moving across the polished surface as boisterous music flows as their feet shuffle. The floor isn't large, but they were having fun.

"How do you like it?" asks Ozzie.

"Worth the four star rating and the mention in the Zagat," says Naomi in nonchalant praise.

"Someone's been doing her homework," notes Ozzie with a grin.

"When your dad is who he is, and your mom is who she is, you have to know these things," waves off Naomi.

"Speaking of parents, my dad hung the Zagat review in the kitchen," informs Ozzie.

He says it almost modestly, which is nice. It's good to meet someone in L.A. with parents who don't disappoint them.

"I'm sure it was well-deserved," says Naomi.

Ozzie pauses at a booth, Naomi sliding in on the other side of him. This is different. In the car, she could look away from him if she wanted. Now, she's almost forced to stare at him. His dark locks have traces of light flickering on them, near the top. It is kind of giving him a smoldering vibe. Naomi lowers her eyes and plays with her napkin.

"You didn't have plans tonight, did you?" smirks Ozzie.

"Are you always this cocky?" asks Naomi, raising her eyes a hair.

"Yeah," replies Ozzie.

Looking from left to right, Naomi shakes her head and smiles.

"So when did this restaurant get started?" asks Naomi.

"When I was in junior high," answers Ozzie. "My dad worked in kitchens, but always wanted his own place. He's taught me stuff, convinced I'm going to take it over someday."

"Wait," says Naomi. "Hold the phone. You cook?"

"You don't?" asks Ozzie.

"I can cook...a bowl of cereal," supplies Naomi. "At least it's healthy, right?"

They exchange smiles as a waiter approaches them, seemingly anxious to get there. Being the owner's son is apparently giving them more pull than she thought.

"Hey Ozzie!" greets the waiter. "And Ozzie's...date."

Naomi feels her cheek flush as Ozzie clears his throat.

"Ernesto, you do know how to take an order without interfering?" says Ozzie.

She throws him a thankful smile and accepts a menu from an embarrassed Ernesto. The menu is in English and Spanish. She doesn't want anything that will get stuck in her teeth. But it's not like a date, or she's anticipating any kissing, or....yeah, just order, Naomi.

"I'll have the Mexican chicken salad, avocado on the side," says Naomi.

"Apple chicken quesadilla," says Ozzie.

Ernesto writes their orders down hurriedly, just as anxious to leave as he was to arrive.

"What's an apple chicken quesadilla?" asks Naomi.

"It's good, " insists Ozzie. "You can have some of mine."

"I told you I don't eat carbs in public!" whispers Naomi urgently.

"Okay, but don't beg me for some of mine when you see it," says Ozzie teasingly.

Naomi shrugs and starts to unzip her purse. The chicken salad wasn't the most expensive thing on the menu, but she did want to pony up her half, make sure she had the cash. With her mom so depressed during this divorce, she was going a little easier on her credit cards.

"Zip it up, Clark," instructs Ozzie.

"I'm not owing you one," says Naomi.

"The best way you could pay me is...if you dance with me," says Ozzie, standing.

"Dance?" cries Naomi.

If they dance, then people would get the wrong impression, not that she knows anybody here. She doesn't think she does. Naomi does a quick scan of the restaurant's patrons, unable to identify anybody, save for Ernesto chatting up a pretty redhead near the firepit. If she doesn't dance, it might sour the night. He _is _insisting on paying. Sheesh. What harm can one moment of body bumping and swaying do? Sighing loudly, Naomi rises and trails Ozzie to the dance floor.

At least any slow songs have ended so they won't be too close. No, a fast rhythm begins to play, and she swears she can hear whistling in the background. Everyone else on the floor recognizes the song, beginning to shake their bodies, toss their hair, and find the beat. Naomi twists her lips in confusion, then yells over the noise. Couples dance bouyantly to the bouncy music.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" exclaims Naomi.

"Follow me," shouts Ozzie.

He lets his shoulders shimmy to the Latin groove, Naomi holding in a laugh. Most of the other men are doing the same thing.

_Vem Magalenha rojão, traz a lenha pro fogão, vem fazer armação.  
Hoje é um dia de sol, alegria de coió, é curtir o verão._

The women next to her ruffle their skirts and move their hips simulatenously. Ozzie's feet go two steps forward, and back again effortlessly. Naomi does her best to mirror it, Ozzie resting his hands on her waist. Naomi goes forward, back, forward, back as the music speeds up. She giggles when Ozzie's chest meets hers.

_Vem Magalenha rojão, traz a lenha pro fogão, vem fazer armação.  
Hoje é um dia de sol, alegria de coió, é curtir o verão._

_te te te te te te te  
te te te te te te te_

"This is fun!" shouts Naomi.

"It's Brazil, baby!" shouts Ozzie. "It's Brazil!"

"Woo!" shouts a man in the rear as he revolves his butt in a circle.

"Of course, some people are just weird," jokes Ozzie, swirling her around.

Naomi grins and returns to their original position. As the beat grows intoxicatingly manic, her eyes stay on Ozzie's dark ones. They were so revealing when they were close and so mysterious when they were surrounded by silence. She doesn't know what to make of him most of the time. He was a really great dancer, though. Really great.

"Tired yet?" asks Ozzie.

"No," decides Naomi, putting her arms behind his back. "I can keep up with you."

IV.

Silver touches the plastic cover of her scrapbook, the black cover shiny. The first hints of twilight are outside her window. She has to get out of here. She can't stand the thought of running into a random guy who she's never seen around her house before. Is it even her house? What if she doesn't come back? That's the way things were heading. Silver releases a soft cry and tenderly opens the book to the first page.

There's a picture with her and Naomi. She made this when they were eleven. Her hair was full and curly, Silver's straight and long. They were wearing white shirts covered in lime-green paint after redoing Silver's room. Her mother said it was an eyesore. It's not like she asked why it was lime-green. She was too busy throwing back drinks. Naomi comforted her afterwards. Things like that hurt when you're in your last year in elementary school. Now, who would be there for her? She's too ashamed to ask for it.

"Just...just leave," she tells herself as she closes the book.

Forget the stupid battery, and forget this day ever happened. Her mind would comfort herself, later. She rushes down the hall, out of the door, and onto the stoop. Dixon has returned to the driver's seat. She rubs her eyes extra hard. Any traces of crying have to be wiped away. She'd hide her eyes. Silver walks to the car, with a wide smile.

"Sorry that took awhile," says Silver.

"Nah," waves off Dixon. "I was looking at the cars."

"Tired of driving your mother's?" asks Silver brightly as she gets inside.

"It really would be better for me and Annie to have our own," replies Dixon.

Then, he doesn't talk. He stares at her. Uh-oh. Silver slumps in her chair, facing the window.

"What's wrong?" speaks up Dixon.

"Nothing...nothing is wrong," says Silver with a fake-sounding laugh.

"Well...where's the battery?" asks Dixon.

"She...she didn't have one," answers Silver quickly, then realizing her mistake.

Dixon scratches his head, puzzled.

"My brother's wife....Donna...she didn't..."

Silver stops stammering and presses her back to the soft seat. If only everything else was that smooth. She leans forward, crying, tears hitting her jeans. Dixon undoes his seatbelt and scoots closer to her.

"I can't lie for her anymore," breathes Silver.

Dixon leads her head to his shoulder.

"Kelly told me not to come, but...there's this need for me to...be with her," chokes out Silver. "Dixon, I'm sorry I lied."

"This is your house," says Dixon, more of a statement than a question.

Silver nods slowly.

"You want to be with your mom," shrugs Dixon. "I understand."

She stares at the glove compartment, weakly recalling when Dixon found her huddled in her car. That night, she had nowhere to go. She kept her eyes on the swinging branches of a tree near the Wilsons until sleep won over her alertness. Dixon knocked on the window and she answered. He told her that he knew what it felt like, to feel the sting of parents who didn't quite act like parents. Even though she's never met his mom, or his foster families, she believed him. She took a chance. It more than paid off.

"I'm getting your shoulder wet," says Silver as she lifts her head. "Being all emotional."

"I have a mom and a sister," says Dixon. "I'm used to emotional."

Silver grins.

"Let's head home," offers Dixon.

"Let's," encourages Silver.

The drive is leisurely and quiet, which is perfect for her. To be away from the drama of the Taylor homestead, and refocus her priorities is perfect. Dixon and Silver go to the Wilsons' kitchen, spying Debbie and Annie making sandwiches.

"_First you take the bread, and you spread it, you spread it_," sings Debbie, reaching for the loaf on the counter.

"_For your peanut, peanut butter_," joins in Annie. "_And jelly_!"

It, the baby, sits right next to the toaster and is now wearing a floral dress.

"Mom!" complains Dixon.

"Sorry, guys," says Debbie, glancing at Silver. "We used to sing that during Girl Scout trips in Kansas."

"You were a Girl Scout, Annie?" inquires Silver.

"For a week," answers Annie.

Dixon laughs. "Annie ate half of the cookies she should've sold."

"I gave some to my friends," mutters Annie under her breath.

"Speaking of giving," says Dixon, not very naturally. "Would you happen to have a battery for a mini camcorder?"

"It's okay if you don't," says Silver, quick to add it.

"She's come up empty-handed so far," admits Dixon.

"I'm only surprised I wasn't your first stop!" cries Debbie, good-naturedly. "I'm a photographer after all, in addition to filming all the Wilsons' home videos."

Debbie wipes her hand with a paper towel.

"Thanks....Ms. Wilson," says Silver. "I was just too nervous to ask."

"Don't ever feel that way," says Debbie, hugging Silver from the side. "Annie, finish the food?"

"Mmmkay," says Annie.

She moves It from beside the toaster to the edge of the oven.

"I worry for that kid," whispers Debbie to Silver as they leave the room and laugh.


	4. Where the Colors Don't Go

**IV. That's Where the Colors Don't Go**

_In a white room, in a white head  
in a cobweb of enterprise  
where the dreams sleep and fears keep_

_that's where the colors don't go  
that's where the colors don't show  
that's where the colors don't go_

_in one take, no give  
half live, half ignore  
an endless chase in a small place_

_one world, one white flag  
one shopping bag and restaurant  
no surprise there  
only lies there_

_that's where the colors don't go  
that's where the colors don't show  
that's where the colors don't go_

_i want your eyes to color my world  
and hear my endless longing_

_that's where the colors don't go  
that's where the colors don't show  
that's where the colors don't go_

**That's Where the Colors Don't Go is the property of Sam Phillips.**

**AN: I don't remember the names of the Blendeds, Naomi's popular friends, but I named them Margery, Lana, and Rachel. **

"I heard breastfeeding makes you lose weight," says Annie, twirling around in front of the full-length mirror. "I guess there are pluses to pregnancy."

"You don't need to lose any weight," assures Silver.

"Eh, I can't put up with this....thing, anyway," huffs Annie, tossing baby It onto her bedspread.

Silver rewinds some of the footage she shot at the lacrosse scrimmage that afternoon. Beyond all the bug close-ups, she had a few decent minutes of the team running across the grass. She could edit those easily. Now, she just needs a story. Some of her favorite documentaries focused on a single subject, a person where all the strands of the piece could connect to, a realistic protagonist. George was too much of a jerk. She only knew Ethan through Naomi. She didn't find the other guys particularly articulate. Freezing a frame, she smiles at an image of Dixon leading the pack as they cross the center of the field.

"You don't film me while I'm asleep, do you?" asks Annie, peering over her shoulder, and then smiling. "Oh."

"What?" says Silver, putting the camera to her chest.

"It's nothing...nothing," muses Annie, playfully. "Just...cinematic proof that you _are_ crushing on my brother."

"This...this is for class!" insists Silver. "I was filming the team!"

"Yeah, team Dixon," teases Annie.

"You are so off-base, Wilson," sighs Silver, shifting her eyes.

"Am not," challenges Annie.

"Look, go focus on your studies and let me focus on mine," says Silver.

Annie shrugs. "I know what you're focusing on."

She holds up a picture of her family and taps Dixon's grinning face. Silver throws a lacy pillow at Annie's head.

"Owww," says Annie as she laughs and leaves the room.

So what if her camera stayed on Dixon a little longer? He was the one who said he'd have no problem with the documentary, and he's one of the star athletes, and she wouldn't mind staring at him in the editing room. Shoot. Thank goodness Annie doesn't read minds. The truth is that she likes whenever he holds her or talks to her. The truth is that she stares at him sometimes during meals when he's not looking. The truth is she was hoping he was feeling the same things. If the camera were on the other end, she'd like it if he found her just as interesting from behind the lens.

But who could blame him if he didn't? She has baggage. High school guys were into having fun, not dealing with drama they didn't cause. When she went bowling with the Wilsons on family night, that's what should be normal, not Dixon finding her sleeping in a car instead of the women's shelter or comforting her when her mom chews her out. These were supposed to be the best years of their lives, not the most troubled. She didn't want to bring him into that anymore.

Silver scoots off the bed and walks down the hallway. There was a nice desk there where she could recharge her camera. Most of Annie's outlets were being used or were in unreachable places.

"Come on, man!" yells a distant, disappointed voice.

Gripping her camera tighter, Silver goes towards the shout and views Dixon shaking his head at the television screen. A football game was on and Silver had no idea who the teams were until she checked out the bottom of the screen. The Kansas City Chiefs were playing the Detroit Lions. It took her awhile to figure out which was which, Silver's eyes scanning the team colors and jersey designs. Dixon was the only one there, the blue haze of the TV resting on his shaved head.

"Who's winning?" speaks up Silver.

"Detrioit," sighs Dixon, turning the TV off with the remote.

"It's over?" asks Silver.

"Nah, but Kansas City is beat," guesses Dixon.

"How are you going to know if you don't watch?" says Silver.

"They'd need a miracle," says Dixon. "Do you have a beginning yet?"

"I'm still pro-Dixon interview," says Silver.

Thinking about how confessional she should be with him sparked this idea. It might be a ploy to learn more about him, but she swore to herself that her intentions were innocent. She'd respect a "no" from him, albeit after some fine-tuned ribbing.

"Me?" groans Dixon.

"I'll cut out anything embarrassing," promises Silver. "They'll be sticking cameras in your face if you make it to the pros, anyway."

"Well, I play for fun, really," says Dixon.

"Hmmm," says Silver, raising her camera and filming. "Go on."

"Swear that any stupid thing I say will end up on the cutting room floor?" says Dixon.

"Swear," replies Silver.

"I don't know," says Dixon. "It's nice to be part of a team. Like I have brothers. My dad and I don't have a lot in common, but I feel like I'm his son out there...like I don't think I'm adopted."

She can certainly understand wanting to be close to your parents, even in a small way. But she has no ambition to be a model like her mother, or an oral surgeon like her father. If she wasn't surrounded by plastic faces in her mother's profession, she'd be surrounded by false teeth. Being a documentarian would mean highlighting what's real, a real way to look at the world.

"Did you play in Kansas?" asks Silver.

"Yeah, but it wasn't as big of a deal as it is here," answers Dixon.

"And what do you think of Beverly Hills?" says Silver. "Think us Californians are crazy?"

"Well, it's not very diverse," chuckles Dixon.

"You mean the world isn't solely white, rich, and skinny?" cries Silver, sarcastically. "Color me shocked."

Dixon laughs. "I like that. A sense of humor."

"But I agree," says Silver, smiling. "I mean, having culturally aware textbooks would be a start."

He nods with amusement.

"Just saying," shrugs Silver.

"You always have an opinion, don't you?" says Dixon.

"Life would be boring without them," replies Silver. "Or...you know, quieter."

They grin at each other, the single sound the dripping faucet in the kitchen. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, her head growing dizzy from rushed thought after rushed thought. What should I say next? Is this the longest conversation they've had? Should she lean in and go for it?

"Hey, who's out there?" shouts someone, Harry's head appearing from the den.

"It's me, Dad!" replies Dixon.

"Time for bed, you two," says Harry. "Dixon....your room...now!"

Dixon shakes his head, puts a finger to his lips, and searches for the score to the game.

"I think they won," whispers Silver.

"Nah, they....," begins Dixon, before the score appears, championing the Chiefs' victory.

"Ha!" says Silver, then covering her mouth.

"Man," mutters Dixon. "Teaches me to never count out the Chiefs."

"The best athletes come from Kansas," affirms Silver.

Dixon smiles, dimples on full display, and Silver plugs in her camera. She starts towards Annie's room, noting Dixon's close by. Wait a minute. It takes less than a minute to realize he's walking her there.

"You're walking me to your sister's room," says Silver.

"There might be crazy people in the dark hallway," kids Dixon. "Robbers...serial killers...my grandmother."

They chuckle, Silver putting her body against the door.

"It's a short walk," says Silver.

"That's the bad part," offers Dixon.

"Well, thank you....and thanks for the interview," says Silver.

"I....might be willing to answer more questions, if you're in the mood," assures Dixon.

"I just might," says Silver.

She reenters Annie's room, staring at him as the door closes. Silver beams. She not only got him to talk, but he honestly thinks she's clever. Somebody appreciated her opinions without her having to use her blog. Nice. Very nice.

"Since tomorrow is Saturday, I can finally get some rest," groans Annie, slipping under her covers.

"Here, here," echoes Silver.

Silver sits on her bed and starts unfolding her nightgown. A loud cry bounds across the walls while she's doing so.

"Shut up!" whines Annie, kicking her legs restlessly as the baby silently rolls off the blanket and onto the floor. "Ugh....thank you."

II.

"Salsa must be good for your calves," says Naomi, looking appreciatively at hers.

"That's all you got out of it?" laughs Ozzie.

"Alright, alright," replies Naomi. "It was fun, too."

The dancing was more fun than she'd like, actually. She hadn't danced with another guy since Ethan, since her ill-fated birthday party. His shoulders were tense before she said anything, her soft dress clinging to her frame despite how flowy it felt in the store. Part of her still didn't want to believe the words in the anonymous text. How could Ethan do that? Why would he cheat on her? She kept her composure, though, keeping her cheeks dry under the shimmering club lights. She beckoned everyone to the floor and broke away from him. It was tough to do since they were so tight. He was the guy who saw her without make-up, without the fuss, her first love. She couldn't let that go. Tonight, she did let go on the floor. With frenetic movement, relaxed shoulders, and her eyes on her partner, she let Ozzie control where her feet went and where she should turn. It was like dancing to a heartbeat, a different heartbeat that she hadn't heard. But a heartbeat only lasts so long.

"Now, next weekend...," begins Ozzie.

"What is this next weekend business?" says Naomi. "I'm a busy girl."

"Certainly, a busy girl like you has time for Homecoming," remarks Ozzie, raising his eyebrows.

Oh, right, recalls Naomi. She'd been thinking about Homecoming earlier, but that was when she was with....

"Ethan might ask me to that," says Naomi.

Ozzie remains silent, the car going down her street. She searches for any sign of disappointment, any trace of a clear emotion. Ozzie's expression isn't giving. Whatever his response was is buried under tight lips and a forward stare.

"It's tradition that we go," continues Naomi. "If any other guy showed up at my house, they'd be bombarded with questions. Believe me. I would not put you through that."

"Is it that your family and friends expect you to go with him, or that you expect to go with him?" questions Ozzie, without looking at her.

What? It's obviously both, and he doesn't know her well enough to ask her that.

"You know....just keep driving," says Naomi, crossing her arms.

"Touched a nerve?" says Ozzie.

"My car's still at the school," moans Naomi. "I don't see why you insisted on giving me a lift to my house with my car in the parking lot."

"That wouldn't be very chivalrous," says Ozzie, smirking.

"Oh, and your nosy inquisition is?" says Naomi. "Pull up to the curb, please."

Her house has a couple lights on, the well-tended shrubbery rustling in the autumn wind. The porch light illuminates her stoop, the garage closed, with her mother's Mercedes inside. Naomi unbuckles her seatbelt and stares at the garage, pulling at a silver hoop necklace Ethan gave her. She was hoping that he'd notice it, but then Annie showed and ruined their time together. Hearing a click, Naomi rolls her eyes as Ozzie leaves his seat and stands next to her.

"Look, if I rattle your chains...it's because I like you," says Ozzie.

"You are so frustrating," sighs Naomi, releasing her necklace.

"Well, yeah," shrugs Ozzie. "So are you."

"I think not," says Naomi. "I was upfront with you before we went to the restaurant, okay?"

"How about being upfront with yourself?" says Ozzie.

"Like how?" says Naomi.

"When's the last time Ethan asked you out?" questions Ozzie.

"We're both busy....," starts Naomi.

"No definite answer," muses Ozzie aloud. "When's the last time Ethan came by your house?"

"That's...private," answers Naomi, hesitantly.

Alright, so there may be a delay on Ethan's part, yet they need that space to cool off, for Ethan to realize what he is missing. While she's weighing what to say next, Ozzie's body grows closer to hers, until he's standing directly in her line of sight. He puts his firm hands on her shoulders and lets his forehead graze hers.

"When's the last time he kissed you?" whispers Ozzie.

Naomi's lips quiver, not from sadness, but from excitement, a response she has to rope in almost immediately, as she can tell Ozzie's getting some private satisfaction from it.

"Ugh!" cries Naomi, pushing him away.

Ozzie chuckles and puts his arms to his sides. His laughter subsides as the front door to the Clark home opens. Naomi views the double latte before Margery appears herself. The other two Blendeds come out seconds later, Lana and Rachel whispering as they glance at Ozzie.

"Naomi, apologies for stopping by so late," says Margery, lowering her latte.

"Oh, no," says Naomi. "Um, you guys know you can stop by anytime."

She throws Ozzie a slightly remorseful frown. Whenever the Blendeds came around, she felt pressure to drop anything she was doing and give them her full attention. After all, they were cool upperclassmen who saw fit to include her, a lowly sophomore, in their ranks. That kind of opportunity only came by once in a blue moon.

"Who's the eye candy?" says Margery, looking Ozzie up and down.

Ozzie clears his throat and rubs his neck. Naomi's not sure what to say. He wasn't a date, and only sort of a friend. Currently, he's someone who is bothering her and invigorating her simultaneously.

"Um," says Naomi.

"Oooh, speechless," teases Lana.

"Is he a _caliente_ construction worker?" speaks up Rachel. "Or a gardener? He can trim my hedge anyday."

"Enough with the _Desperate Housewives _fantasy," says Margery, holding up her hand and silencing Rachel. "And I do mean desperate."

"He goes to our school, Rachel," says Naomi strongly.

"Shhh, Naomi," instructs Margery.

Naomi lets her eyes fall to the paved sidewalk.

"Where do you live?" asks Margery, walking to Ozzie. "Wilshire? Olympic? Sunset?"

"Van Nuys," supplies Ozzie.

"Oh, with the politicians and the Library," remarks Margery. "That's...quaint."

"Come on!" remarks Naomi.

She knows what's behind Margery's "quaint" label. It meant that she wouldn't be caught dead there, and it was her "sweet" way of being dismissive. Certain parts of Van Nuys are perfectly fine, and some of the nicest Latino kids at West Bev live there. Margery gives Naomi a sharp look, Naomi biting her lip.

"Well, I stay with my cousins in Van Nuys, but my parents have a small place in Hancock Park," continues Ozzie.

"Okay, now that's promising," says Margery with an affirmative nod.

Lana and Rachel mumur their appreciation right after their fearless leader. Naomi frowns.

Ozzie's brow furrows and he shakes his head.

"I gotta go," says Ozzie, going to the front seat of his car.

"Wait," says Naomi, following him.

"We'll be inside, discussing Homecoming dresses," informs Margery.

Margery takes Lana by the arm, and they're in the house quicker than Naomi can blink. Naomi stoops by Ozzie's window and halts him from putting the key into the ignition. Ozzie sighs and grips the steering wheel.

"They've got impossible standards," says Naomi, raising her eyes skyward.

"And it was impossible for you to disagree?" remarks Ozzie.

"Of course I don't agree!" insists Naomi. "Look, they chat up your dad's restaurant so they're not totally evil. And I don't know you well enough to tell them you're my friend yet."

"Are you afraid to get to know me?" asks Ozzie, his eyes shining.

Naomi sighs deeply and taps her fingers against the leather interior at the bottom of his window. No, that's not what she's afraid of, and she can't tell him what she is afraid of, or things might get more complicated. She's afraid to be around him, for there to come a day when she isn't pushing him away. She's downright terrified. Still, she won't tell him. No, she'd maintain a brave face, like she did with Ethan.

"No," replies Naomi.

Ozzie grins. "Good."

"I'm going to the Beverly Center tomorrow afternoon," offers Naomi. "You can meet me at Steve Madden."

The choice for their meeting is calculated, yes. Margery, Lana, and Rachel would be done shopping with her by morning, and Steve Madden is one shop they never seemed to visit.

"Three o' clock, okay?" says Ozzie.

"Sure," says Naomi.

"Sounds kind of like a date," teases Ozzie.

"It's not," clarifies Naomi. "It's two people getting to know each other. Besides, I don't do mall dates."

"I do," returns Ozzie, starting up his engine.

Naomi puts her hands on her hips, watching Ozzie's car disappear down the road, and then smiles when all she can see are his lights.

III.

She loves how big this place is, the strap of her purple bag tensing around her shoulder. It resembles some tucked away palace, right in the center of Los Angeles, with its columnades, shaped shrubbery, and immense size. She'd only seen houses like this in films, only gaining entrance via the director's camera. It was like a dreamworld. But she came here and was welcome by Navid and his family. The sun shines on the lengthy windows of the North side. Adrianna grins when she knocks on the humongous double doors.

A small tan hand parts the door for her entrance. Dressed in a neon pink T-shirt, and designer denim jeans, Navid's younger sister Parisa squeals. It was easy to remember her name, because Adrianna had always wanted to go to Paris. Plus, Parisa seems to like her the most.

"Adrianna!" cries Parisa.

"Hey, Parisa!" greets Adrianna. "I like your outfit."

"My mommy bought it for me before she went on her trip," shares Parisa. "Your outfit is cute, too."

Adrianna glances at her clothing. Though she was helping Navid babysit, she still enjoyed the idea of dressing up for him. She wore a white blouse over a black camisole, black pants, and dressy black flats. Her mother said she looked very artsy, but didn't bother asking where she was going. It was so the norm for them that she didn't give her mother's words a second thought.

"Thanks," says Adrianna. "Where's your brother?"

"In the kitchen," answers Parisa. "Iman is being especially bad today."

What havoc could a fourteen-month old create?

"Oh?" says Adrianna, going towards the kitchen.

She reaches the living room, taking in the elegantly carved statues, beautiful paintings, and Persian earthenware, all of which were in dark shades. The items darkened the room a bit, yet the sun flowing through the windows makes the mood of the room far cheerier. That's why Adrianna loves this room the most. Of course, she might like Navid's room best, if she were ever in there.

"Ade?" calls Navid from the kitchen.

"Coming," says Adrianna.

Entering the kitchen, she smiles as she views Navid bouncing Iman on his knee, a bottle sitting on the table. The kitchen is more modern than the other parts of the house. All the necessities, like the oven and refrigerator, were done in black metallic and the cupboards and drawers were white and clean.

"Thank God," whispers Navid, standing and cradling Iman in the same instance.

"Adrianna Tate-Duncan reporting for duty," says Adrianna cheerfully.

"Where's Parisa?" asks Navid.

"In the living room," says Adrianna.

"Parisa, you better not be touching anything in there!" yells Navid.

"What's this thing do?" says Parisa in response.

Navid hands Iman off to Adrianna, the baby fidgeting in her grasp. Iman was wearing what looks to be a pricey green onesie, with Princess on the front. She grins at the baby who grins back. Then, a wad of drool falls from Iman's lips and lands on Adrianna's right shoe. Adrianna grimaces.

"Aaah!" cries Iman with glee.

"Yeah, hi to you, too," murmurs Adrianna. "Let me get a tissue..."

She locates a tissue and dots Iman's mouth. Navid returns, Parisa struggling in his hold, an urn underneath his other arm. Hmmm, maybe she should suggest moving upstairs, where there's sure to be a distinct lack of antiques and pottery. She thinks. She's never been up there. Navid sets the urn on the table.

"Anything breakable on the second level?" asks Adrianna.

"Good idea," says Navid, nodding. "Okay, girls, upstairs."

"Yay!" shouts Parisa.

Instead of saying any words, Iman beats on Adrianna's breasts like drums. Well, it's better than drool. The baby continues as they start up the stairs. Navid glances back at Adrianna.

"In case I don't say it later, I love you for doing this," says Navid.

"No problem," says Adrianna.

"Navid loves Adrianna! Navid loves Adrianna!" sings Parisa with delight.

"Hey, keep talking like that and you won't get to see the _Cheetah Girls One World_ movie," assures Navid.

"Good. I don't like the _Cheetah Girls," _says Parisa, skipping ahead of him.

They reach a room that resembles a den, Adrianna scanning the area. There were lots of stuffed animals on wooden shelves, a large floor with pink carpeting, a medium-sized TV with what seems like millions of DVDs in an adjoining drawer, and two soft Barbie beds with plush pillows.

"What were you planning to do?" asks Adrianna.

"I was going to teach Parisa how to play Wii," says Navid, innocently.

"Hello?" laughs Adrianna. "That's a teen boy thing."

"And uh....Rock Band?" says Navid.

"Teen boy thing," repeats Adrianna. "Ever follow your X chromosome?"

"Hey, I've already done two tea parties today," defends Navid.

"Iman tried to eat the saucer," shares Parisa.

"She's teething," explains Navid.

"Awww, now I know why you're so drool-y today, huh?" coos Adrianna to Iman.

"Mom said it's late to be teething," offers Navid. "But I think the constant crying is done. This week, Iman just bites everything she can."

Parisa pats around the pockets of her jeans and removes a piece of paper. Adrianna stares at Navid, who's obviously annoyed with whatever is on the sheet. Parisa shows the paper to Adrianna.

"I'm making a list of all the bad stuff Iman has done," informs Parisa. "One, trying to eat the sofa cushions. Two, throwing her diaper on the floor. Three, tearing up Navid's science homwork...."

"What?" interrupts Navid.

"Go check," encourages Parisa.

Groaning, Navid leads Adrianna to the side, his eyes looking tired and hectic. Poor guy. She was a fan of his big family, yet she wouldn't blame him for being run down because of it. Iman indicates she wants on the floor, Adrianna tenderly lowering her to the carpet. The baby walks dizzily to her sister.

"I understand if this is too much," whispers Navid. "You can leave at any point."

"Are you kidding?" says Adrianna. "I'm not ditching you because of a little drool and a pint-sized police officer."

He smiles, making her smile and hang her head a bit. Navid raises it to kiss her.

"Oooooh," teases Parisa.

Navid's lips separate from her and he points to her bag.

"What've you got in that _Purple People Eater_ bag?" kids Navid.

"A reference to one of the worst movies known to man?" returns Adrianna. "I'd leave my bag alone if I were you. No, I have everything that could possibly entertain a seven-year old and a baby for twelve hours. A rattle and a wheel that does animal sounds for Iman, Candyland and coloring books for Parisa..."

"What about me?" interjects Navid.

"I would think the person carrying the bag would be enough," says Adrianna.

"She is," whispers Navid, pecking her on the lips.

"A bag!" cries Parisa. "I want to see."

Adrianna takes out the items and gives the girls instructions, telling Parisa how to keep the board game in order and telling Iman not to put the wheel into her mouth. Both girls were following directions so she went to Navid, who was wordlessly staring out of a window. She elbows him and looks out of the window too. The scene is of the Shirazi courtyard, a white marble fountain spilling water into the big basin underneath. Navid sighs.

"Can't wait til I'm older," says Navid. "I'll be far away, scouting scenery for my films."

"Instead of lovingly caring for your underage siblings?" guesses Adrianna.

"My dad says I should be grateful," says Navid.

"Then, be grateful," insists Adrianna, softly. "Being a lonely only child is not as freeing as it sounds."

Navid gives her a puzzled look, Adrianna smoothing out her shirt. She didn't want to get into it. There was the absentee dad, the mother who used her as a meal ticket, the quiet house....eh, this isn't the place for pity parties. This place has always made her happy.

"Adrianna, Iman drew you a picture," says Parisa.

That forces them to turn around, Adrianna staring at the coloring book. There isn't a trace of crayon on the two open pages. Then, her gaze went up and so did her pulse. There were green and blue lines on the white wall, Iman going to fetch a peach crayon. Navid slams a fist against his forehead as Adrianna's jaw drops.

"Why?" groans Navid loudly.

Paris smiles at Adrianna.

"I told you she was bad," says Parisa. "I'm the good one."

IV.

Attack, middies, defense, and goalie. Good, there's four. That's definitely not a big number, and she could keep those four in her memory. Dixon is playing middie on this particular day, but he told her he was usually an attacksman, or a scorer. The middies were called "the heart of the team", according to Harry's empowering team speech. He also scolded them for not playing that way, particularly Ethan who'd gotten to showboating lately. Silver filmed all of this in stride. Getting a good night's sleep, plus an extra hour, made her a lot more willing to catch everything on her camera. She focuses on one player who isn't Dixon.

"Goalie Bryan Jenner, junior and general apathetic athlete, wonders if this will be the season where they'll go for the gold," narrates Silver. "Meanwhile, he has no idea that his fly's undone."

Silver hears a clink against the bleachers and aims her lens at the source of it.

"You should add a _grrrr_ or zippy background music," suggests Kelly, approaching her with cautious steps. "Harry told me you were here. Ooof!"

"Do you even know what I'm filming?" returns Silver.

"No," answers Kelly, honestly. "West Bev's Wacky World of Sports?"

Kelly reaches her with a pleased sigh and sits next to her.

"It's a serious documentary, my dear," says Silver with a British accent. "Tish, tosh. Let me carry on."

"You're using tish, tosh wrong," informs Kelly. "I've been to Europe a couple times."

"Oh, for tea and crumpets, love?" continues Silver in her accent.

"Silver, turn it off, please," instructs Kelly. "I have to talk to you about something."

Sighing, Silver pauses the camera and lays it on her lap. She finally notices how firm her sister's face is, and is starting to regret accepting Dixon's invitation to capture their Saturday practice on film. It was said casually, but she knew he was helping her out again. If only there were other people she could help, that both she and Kelly could help.

"Mom called me," says Kelly, patting Silver's knee.

"Kelly, I had to check on her," defends Silver immediately. "I know you don't like it, but I've been living there for over ten years...."

"Silver, I thought we had an understanding," says Kelly.

"I'm not living there, am I?" counters Silver. "That's what we agreed on, nothing else."

"She said you barged in on her and a guest....," begins Kelly.

"No!" cries Silver. "I mean, she was expecting somebody, but..."

"Who?" asks Kelly.

"Some random guy that's satisfying her needs, I guess," says Silver, turning from Kelly.

Kelly gently guides Silver to look at her instead of the field.

"I'm trying to spare you from certain things," says Kelly.

"From what?" sighs Silver. "You never tell me. You just allude to stuff, without any concrete info."

"Just....," says Kelly, and then her eyes become more wet.

"Kel?" whispers Silver.

"When I was around your age, Jackie showed up to my high school's fashion show," shares Kelly. "She was high, snorting up in the girls' bathroom. She came out onto the stage and it just got worse. God, I was so embarrassed."

The fallen tears on Kelly's cheeks say everything else. Why would her mother do something like that? Well, addiction does do strange things to people. A lot of the things their mother did, were things Silver didn't want to believe were really her.

"I don't want that version of Mom for you," whispers Kelly.

"The modelling world has a lot of temptation," offers Silver.

"The modelling world does have drugs, and there is temptation, but we shouldn't make that her excuse," says Kelly. "She's been to rehab, was sober for a number of years, and then it fell apart. That's why I think...a little tough love might do the trick. Like staying away from her."

Tough love? How can you help someone when you aren't around them? Yes, she's upset with her mother, especially after this latest visit, but tough love is only resulting in her getting drunk and clamoring around the house.

"How come you get to decide everything!" exclaims Silver.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this at fifteen," insists Kelly, calmly. "You should be dating and going to things like Homecoming...."

"Since when was I into things like Homecoming?" interrupts Silver.

"Okay, then whatever you want to do," says Kelly.

"I want to help Mom," says Silver.

She stands and starts to pack up her camera, slinging her backpack onto her back speedily. Kelly stands too.

"Silver, where are you going?" sighs Kelly.

"Don't worry," says Silver, brushing past her. "It's nowhere near Mom. I swear."

"Silver!" cries Kelly in frustration.

Silver walks hurriedly down the bleachers, stalling when a familiar voice calls her name. She stares sadly at him.

"Silver?" yells Dixon, waving at her with his racket.

She shakes her head and jogs across the grass, her backpack bumping against her back, her camera shaking in her hold.


	5. Californication

**V. Californication**

_Psychic spies from China  
Try to steal your mind's elation  
Little girls from Sweden  
Dream of silver screen quotations  
And if you want these kind of dreams  
It's Californication_

_It's the edge of the world  
And all of western civilization  
The sun may rise in the East  
At least it settles in the final location  
It's understood that Hollywood  
sells Californication_

_Pay your surgeon very well  
To break the spell of aging  
Celebrity skin is this your chin  
Or is that war your waging_

_First born unicorn  
Hard core soft porn  
Dream of Californication  
Dream of Californication_

_Marry me girl be my fairy to the world  
Be my very own constellation  
A teenage bride with a baby inside  
Getting high on information  
And buy me a star on the boulevard  
It's Californication_

_Space may be the final frontier  
But it's made in a Hollywood basement  
Cobain can you hear the spheres  
Singing songs off station to station  
And Alderaan's not far away  
It's Californication_

_Born and raised by those who praise  
Control of population everybody's been there  
and  
I don't mean on vacation_

_Destruction leads to a very rough road  
But it also breeds creation  
And earthquakes are to a girl's guitar  
They're just another good vibration  
And tidal waves couldn't save the world  
From Californication_

_Pay your surgeon very well  
To break the spell of aging  
Sicker than the rest  
There is no test  
But this is what you're craving_

**Californication is the property of the Red Hot Chili Peppers.**

**The Sixth Sense is the property of M. Night Shyamalan (1999). It stars Bruce Willis, Toni Collette, and Haley Joel Osment. None of the dialogue or the characters are mine, and neither is the plot. All portions of this film are not my property.**

Naomi's heel taps against its own reflection on the floor. There are relatively no shoppers milling around her. She knows the drill. Come early March, the spring sales will be announced and the latest fashions will appear in the display windows. It ran like clockwork and she can't say she's not grateful. Now, however, it's late October and the prettiest fall collections were already claimed by eager young women who flashed gold cards and carefully whitened smiles. Margery, Lana, and Rachel apparently didn't get the memo because their shopping trip has exceeded the usual two hours. Margery's excuse was that she was waiting for some international designers to gift her with their creations during Christmas break. Then, of course, Lana and Rachel couldn't do anything without Margery. They were so under that girl's spell.

But am I? That's what she contemplates as she stares dismally at the dresses draped over her arm. Naomi hasn't tried on anything yet since they emphasized how their Homecoming was more special because it was their last. If she were in their shoes, she'd be worried more about prom. Maybe they secretly were, but hadn't clued her in. It doesn't matter. This isn't fair either way you slice it. She walks to the gold-draped dressing room and gently ruffles the curtains.

"Ladies, you've been in there a pretty long time!" sing-songs Naomi.

"Margery, are you wearing the baby blue Cavalli?" calls out Rachel.

"Totally not," says Margery, dismissively. "Don't wear that Dolce and Gabbana. It's a tan travesty!"

"For real," echoes Lana. "We'd totally clash."

"Oh my gosh, could you believe Tara Jacobs' Homecoming pics from 2006?" sighs Rachel.

"It's all about color coordination in a group," asserts Margery. "Plus you could tell she'd shopped at Forever 21."

"If you're going to shop there, you can at least look like you're 21. Tara is so baby-faced," says Rachel.

"She like needs the reverse of Botox," laughs Margery.

The other Blendeds join in her laughter, Naomi rolling her eyes. Great, completely ignored, she thinks.

"Is Naomi still out there?" says Lana innocently.

"Naomi!" calls Margery.

"Present and accounted for," says Naomi.

"Okay, we're coming out," informs Margery.

The girls exit their respective dressing stalls. Collectively, their garments were probably worth around three thousand. Naomi only knows bits and pieces of their personal lives. None of them had boyfriends since they didn't think the guys at West Bev were worthy of them. On the other hand, they each made a pact to lose their virginity to hot frat guys in Cabo their last spring break. Margery and Rachel were definitely proud of that fact but Naomi did pick up that Lana liked to change the subject whenever they discussed that particular adventure. Chances are that it was disappointing for her or that she hadn't gone through with it. What isn't disappointing to her, Naomi is sure of, is her family's bank account. Rachel's dad owned a chain of retail stores where Rachel herself was never a customer. Lana's parents were former models and now exclusively successful designers. Margery is the richest of them all. Her dad was chairman of a company that manufactured hybrid cars, which had become popular in the last three years. None of them had to worry about college tuition. No, their worries consisted of how they were going to carry their shopping bags across the mall and load them in the car without breaking a sweat or a nail.

Margery swirls in a circle, a mauve sequined, strapless Gucci dress reaching her knees. Lana and Rachel elected to wear dresses by Armani Exchange, Lana clothed in an ivory gown with spaghetti straps and Rachel in a red Grecian-inspired gown. They all look stunning.

"Wow," compliments Naomi.

"No...something's off," says Margery. "Ugh, I noticed. Lana, have you gained weight?"

"No!" cries Lana.

"The dance is in a week," sighs Margery. "We don't need your thighs throwing off our photogenic equilibrium."

"It's those cinnamon sticks," says Rachel, nodding. "She gets them in her lattes at Starbucks."

"I like stirring with them," defends Lana as she lowers her head.

"So do I, but even I take a break now and then," says Margery, patting Lana's shoulder.

"Alright," groans Lana.

Judging by the color of Lana's cheeks, she's been sufficiently embarrassed. Why does she like these girls again? Oh yeah. With Adrianna pulling one over on her during the drug bust, Silver and her going their seperate ways, and Annie just being genuinely annoying, she's running low on the female friend quota. It's just...they could be nicer to her sometimes. She has needs too.

"Well, how about you girls help me find an outfit?" suggests Naomi.

"But you...you have two Homecomings left," says Rachel cluelessly.

"Gee, thanks for telling me, Rachel," says Naomi sarcastically. "Never would've guessed."

"Lana, Rachel," says Margery as she lets her head fall to the side. "Naomi's right. Besides, she has a date and all."

Margery gives Naomi a forced smile and Naomi awkwardly plays with her hair. She straightened it earlier this morning. She straightened it just because. It definitely, definitely did not have to do with who she's meeting at Steve Madden. Naomi just simply wanted to do something with her hair. She's not going to any extra trouble with how she looks. Yes, her wearing her stylish black dress with the silver belt and black Manolos is for herself and not for any particular person, even the Blendeds.

"Ozzie?" exclaims Naomi.

She smirks and looks away.

"Yeah, tell us about your Latin lover," encourages Rachel.

"I sensed a casual vibe," says Margery with confidence. "Is it a try before you buy kind of thing?"

"I'd seriously, seriously buy," says Lana enthusiastically.

"To remind you, I'm off the market," insists Naomi.

She fetches her iPhone and starts going through her numbers.

"Oh yes," remarks Margery, folding her arms. "Golden boy Ethan who can do no wrong."

"He got distracted by another girl, that's all," says Naomi, keeping her eyes on the screen.

"So Ozzie's a distraction, huh?" muses Margery. "Maybe...that's for the best?"

Naomi raises her head before she can stop herself. What is for the best? Ozzie may not be her guy, but he was routinely nice, respectful, and not too bad on the eyes. He'd be perfect...for someone else.

"What do you mean?" asks Naomi.

"I'm not for across the tracks romances," replies Margery. "Two very different groups. They're on a different social ladder, and that ladder is significantly lower."

"Not getting it," admits Naomi.

Well, really, the problem is she _is_ getting it, but can't believe what she's hearing.

"Take for instance, Hannah Zuckerman-Vasquez," says Margery.

"Ugh," chimes in Rachel.

"She had the nerve to sit at our table," continues Margery. "I mean, _our_ table. Her and her little newspaper friends. But like, they usually sit near the lunch line. Our table is in the center. Who wants to look at Hannah and her geek clique in the center of the room? I ask you."

"Not me," agrees Rachel, raising her hand.

"I thought you guys liked to eat outside," recalls Naomi with a puzzled look.

"It's the principle of the thing," says Margery. "We need somewhere to eat when it rains."

"Mmmhmm," murmurs Naomi, turning her back on them to go through a bundle of tossed clothes.

Margery touches her arm so that Naomi will face her.

"Nomes, I only tell you stuff that's best for you," assures Margery. "Ozzie's fine for a fun fling. But you having a beau in Van Nuys in a neighborhood that's probably akin to a pricier version of the Valley? Funky. Just...utterly funky."

"Smells," adds Rachel.

They both stare at Lana.

"Stinky," provides Lana.

"We're...we're not dating," says Naomi. "Ummm....honestly, I'm all shopped out, girls."

She may not be dating him, but she is meeting him. It'd be so freeing to be around a person who didn't have these preconceived notions and sense of entitlement. Did she have them? No...alright, maybe a tad. Her parents were big on maintaining their images and it may have been passed down to her. At the same time, she was always up for meeting new people. She'd never forget the time she made friends with a pretty girl named Sophia. She, Silver, and Sophia were a wonderful trio. They had mini-fashion shows where Silver was the photographer, and she and Sophia were the models. Sophia was also renown for sharing her candy. Her mother made taffy and other beach treats in a store near Venice so Sophia received most of the extras from her mom. Naomi's mother thought that was such a friendly thing to do and finally asked Sophia's mom about herself. As it turns out, they'd moved to the Valley. After that conversation, Sophia never came over again. They graduated elementary school and their days of fashion shows and taffy were no more. She felt horrible about it, but she doesn't ever remember calling her mother on it. Maybe she should've.

"Can you find a ride home?" asks Margery.

They drove to the mall in Margery's Porsche, though she is counting on a ride home from Ozzie.

"Sure," insists Naomi. "Ready to charge?"

Margery locates her gold card and nods. "You have to ask?"

II.

"The cow says moo," says the wheel as it lights up. "The cow says moo. The cow says moooooooooo...."

Iman giggles as she pushes the yellow square on the toy wheel, the animal sound going on forever and forever and forever.

"Mooooooooooo," continues the wheel.

"Get off it, Iman," instructs Parisa. "The batteries are going to die."

"I'm going to die," mutters Navid. "Look at this wall."

The two of them stare forlornly at the wall. Luckily, Parisa tattling had stopped Iman from doing too much damage. Adrianna scans the nursery as she attempts to think of a way to rid the white wall of its new decoration. It wouldn't be easy to wipe off, though they could try. Navid apparently feels the same.

"Let me get a rag," says Navid.

"I'll keep an eye on them," assures Adrianna, then pointing to Iman. "Especially that one."

"Get off, Iman," says Parisa as she attempts to move Iman's body.

"Hey, let's settle down there," speaks up Adrianna.

She delicately lifts Iman and puts her in a different spot not too far from her. Parisa jumps up happily and follows Adrianna.

"Iman loves animals," says Parisa.

"Do you?" asks Adrianna.

Parisa nods hurriedly.

"What's your favorite?" says Adrianna.

"A beaver," replies Parisa.

A beaver? That's a pretty odd choice. When she was around Parisa's age, all she wanted was a pony. Her mother used to make her practice in order to play with the horse figurines she'd bought her. That was an agreement. Actually, like Parisa's beaver choice, it was strange too. Adrianna didn't think much of it at the time. Acting became like school. She had to go to this audition like she had to go to this class. Her mother would have a word with her if she didn't do things right. Sometimes the words were so harsh that she didn't even feel like playing with her ponies. She wouldn't ever wish that on Parisa or Iman.

"Do you want to see my mom's hat? It's made out of beaver," says Parisa.

"Um, I think you should leave your mom's stuff alone," says Adrianna.

"Okay," says Parisa. "I have to use the bathroom."

"Go and come right back, alright?" instructs Adrianna.

"Ummm, alright," says Parisa.

Parisa skips from the room and Adrianna tries to get Iman interested in a teddy bear she'd brought. Iman proceeds to stuff its leg into her mouth.

"You're having a rough day, eh, teddy?" says Adrianna as Iman spits out the leg.

Twirling a rag in his hand, Navid returns and starts to wipe the crayon from the wall. Adrianna isn't too surprised that it's not having much of an effect.

"Have you ever put whiteout on a wall?" questions Navid.

"I think they'd notice," says Adrianna, smiling.

"I hope you're happy, Iman," sighs Navid.

"Bah!" yells Iman.

She pushes the On button for the TV. Loud, incredibly annoying music flows through the room. Adrianna covers her ears while Navid turns it off with the remote. Iman turns it on again and puts her forehead against the screen.

"No MTV for you," asserts Navid, turning it off.

"It's not even good anymore, anyway," says Adrianna to Iman as she picks her up.

"We've got to feed them dinner soon," notes Navid. "What time are you due back home?"

Adrianna focuses on straightening the collar of Iman's onesie. She doesn't want to tell him that there is no set time. Her mother hasn't set a curfew for her in ages, only parenting her when it came to her acting. Adrianna enjoyed it at first. She got to stay out all hours of the night partying. They did a little of this and a little of that, and a lot of hard drugs. Her old friends taught her how to hide her habit. She'd gotten so good that even Naomi wasn't aware she was snorting up before homeroom. Adrianna is well aware she can't blame her mother's carelessness with setting a curfew for her old lifestyle. But you'd think she'd have noticed. You'd think.

"Weekends are no biggie," she finally answers.

"Sweet," says Navid. "I'd like that deal."

He probably wouldn't if he got it, moans Adrianna inwardly.

"Parisa?" calls out Navid.

His little sister enters, wearing a very furry hat with a black brim. Beaver, identifies Adrianna.

"Look at me, Adrianna," says Parisa, advancing to her.

Iman whimpers in fear. It did look....interesting up close. You would know it came from a dead animal, at least.

"That's one of Mom's antique hats," groans Navid. "Mom told you not to touch those!"

"This is the smallest," defends Parisa weakly.

"Still, not kosher, man," says Navid.

"It's too bad you're not being good anymore," sighs Adrianna. "Because I heard...that good girls...get pizza!"

"Pizza?" says Parisa, her voice rising about two volumes. "Pizza!"

"On me," says Adrianna to Navid.

"Can we get sausage?" cries Parisa. "Can we get pepperoni? Can we get green peppers? Can we get pineapple? Can we get..."

"Can we be quiet?" inserts Navid.

"Navid!" says Adrianna, shaking her head at him.

Iman goes one step further, hitting Navid's shoulder. They all laugh, Iman too though it's fairly obvious she's only giggling because everyone else is doing it. If there's something Adrianna is good at it, it's ordering pizza. The dish is a staple in her house.

"So are we going to put the hat back where it was?" asks Adrianna.

Paris releases a deep breath. "Okay."

They all walk out into the hall, with Parisa and Navid headed to their mother's closet. Adrianna peeks inside for a brief moment. She stares at the gold-plated, king-sized bed, the clean ivory carpet, the fireplace with framed pictures on the mantel. All of the furniture has a bit of gold, whether it's the handle of the drawers, the design carved on the sides of the writing desk, or the base of the lamps. The whole room looks priceless.

"I made sure to put it away nicely," informs Parisa as they exit the closet.

"Good job," compliments Adrianna.

"That's one bad thing for me, and about eight for Iman," adds Parisa.

"I seem to remember a situation with a vase earlier," teases Navid.

"That doesn't count," says Parisa. "I was moving it so it wouldn't get smashed."

"No, you were moving it and it was about to _get_ smashed," corrects Navid.

"This is a beautiful bedroom," says Adrianna.

"Yeah, it's my favorite in the house," shares Navid.

"Navid's bedroom is always dirty," says Parisa.

"Shut up!" whispers Navid through gritted teeth.

"Awww, Navid said shut up," says Parisa. "That's a bad word."

"Up...up shut," gurgles Iman, then sticking her thumb in her mouth.

"Awww, she said it too," points out Parisa. "It counts if you say it backwards."

Navid rolls his eyes and starts down the stairs, the rest of them not too far behind. They go to the kitchen. Navid accepts Iman from Adrianna and situates her into a high chair with Clifford the Dog seat cushions. Parisa takes a seat at the table. Obviously the promise of pizza can do wonders for Parisa's behavior.

"What's Iman eating?" asks Adrianna, walking to the fridge.

"Strained peas or carrots," provides Navid.

"I remember when Navid ate carrots in the Hamptons, and then he barfed for like an hour," shares Parisa. "When the nurse came by, she said she'd never seen a fourteen-year old barf so much. Then, Mom said he had a sensitive stomach and maybe the food wasn't cooked right, and then she gave him some Tums and they put a trashcan next to his bed."

Adrianna bites her lip as Navid turns around, his face frozen in horror.

"That was funny," adds Parisa, before starting to hum.

Locating the strained peas, Adrianna returns to Navid.

"Demon spawn," whispers Navid.

"She's entertaining," whispers Adrianna. "Besides, I've thrown up in more embarrassing situations."

Navid chuckles.

"Let's get you fed, little lady," says Adrianna, opening the peas.

Adrianna takes a spoon from a drawer and starts to feed her. This would be her first time feeding someone baby food. She's heard stories about it. While she likes Iman, she didn't exactly relish the idea of being spat up on. Tums wouldn't work there. Maybe dry-cleaning? Iman accepts the first bite without any trouble. Navid shakes his head.

"Usually, she's a little more difficult with this," says Navid. "You must have that magic touch."

"Who's touching who?" calls over Parisa.

They glance at each other and smirk. Iman takes three more spoonfuls and grins at Adrianna. This isn't that bad. What's a little jarring is Iman grabbing the spoon and trying to bite the utensil.

"No," says Adrianna, trying to take it away from her.

Iman's grip is pretty firm, especially for her age.

"I don't want to play tug-of-war with you, hon," says Adrianna.

"Adrianna, don't!" cries Navid.

Iman releases the spoon, sending Adrianna to the floor, the contents of the baby food jar spilling onto her shirt. Parisa gasps. Navid kneels next to Adrianna.

"It's better to let her have it, or this...sort of happens," says Navid apologetically.

"This happened to you?" says Adrianna.

"Yeah, but if it's any consolation, you fell more gracefully," assures Navid.

"Eh," groans Adrianna, letting her head fall onto the cold tiles.

III.

His fingers inch across the sole of the shoe. Through the glass window of the store, she watches him disregard that sneaker and pick up another. His dark hair is nicely combed, is always nicely combed. He has on black pants and a long-sleeved white shirt with the top button undone. You could see his sculpted chest underneath. She feels guilty for looking. Technically, she shouldn't because it's the window of the store and they expect you to gaze. But she didn't want to get caught gazing at him.

Naomi releases a loud sigh, turns around, and pretends to just go by the store window as if she weren't there for five minutes straight.

"Clark!" calls Ozzie, returning the shoe and waving his arm.

Good. That worked. Naomi waits for Ozzie to reach her.

"I don't usually come to this part of the mall," says Naomi.

What?" says Ozzie. "This is the best part of the mall."

"Um, in what parallel universe?" dismisses Naomi. "All the high-end shopping is thataways."

"Can't believe you actually said thataways," says Ozzie, grinning.

"Heh," says Naomi sarcastically. "But it's true."

"Spoken like a true Beverly Hills princess," sighs Ozzie.

"Alright, enlighten me as to why this side of the mall is the best," challenges Naomi.

"Follow me, your Highness," says Naomi.

Smirking, Naomi walks alongside Ozzie as they pass several stores and groups of people. A couple girls glance at Ozzie, their Bloomingdale bags bumping into each other. Naomi quickly grabs his arm, without really thinking about it. Why did that happen? Well, now that it's there, she can either yank it away or let it stay. Naomi decides to let it linger and remove it at the first, most appropriate moment. That wouldn't be rude in the least.

"You can tell me," says Naomi. "Do you own a pair of jeans?"

Ozzie chuckles. "When I do yard work."

Okay, making a mental note not to tell Rachel, so she won't have those lustful gardener fantasies anymore, thinks Naomi. His butt would look pretty cute in a pair of jeans. Naomi shakes her head to rid her mind of that mental image.

"I don't do it much since I don't have a green thumb, you know?" says Ozzie.

"I don't get my hands dirty period," admits Naomi. "I mean, why mess up what moisturizer does for your hands?"

"So you do no chores?" questions Ozzie.

Naomi shrugs.

"You did tell me about your maid," recalls Ozzie.

"Who I entertained with countless stories about the goings-on of people who can't see past their own noses," says Naomi.

"Like the Blendeds?" poses Ozzie.

This is kind of a tricky situation to be in, with the Blendeds talking about Ozzie, and Ozzie talking about the Blendeds. That's probably what Margery meant when she said that there were differences between them. Though, being with Ozzie right now, Margery's voice has become fainter and fainter. It's not like there was much substance behind what she said.

"You're too good for them, Clark," says Ozzie, lowering his arm so that he can hold her hand.

"They're upperclassmen, and most likely the most sophisticated girls in school," counters Naomi.

"Being a couple years older doesn't make them better," says Ozzie.

"I guess," sighs Naomi. "Only...well, whenever I hang out with someone, I hear my mom evaluating them in my head. Like if they're good enough. Plus my old friends have moved on. Adrianna and I had a falling out. Silver's with Annie....no accounting for taste, right? Ethan's..."

Ozzie listens patiently, which strikes her and sort of erases what she was going to say next.

"Ethan's...Ethan," finishes Naomi.

"Why not do your own thing?" asks Ozzie. "If your friends are as good as you think they are, they'll dig you for that."

That's easy for him to do. He's not under the scrutinizing eyes of the school or part of a former golden couple. Ozzie can be as individual as he wants, whenever he wants.

"That's not how it is in my world," says Naomi.

"Last time I checked, we were all part of the same one," says Ozzie, raising his eyebrows.

He squeezes her hand, then lets it go. She can still feel the warmth of his palm.

"Ah! Paradise," proclaims Ozzie.

Naomi wrinkles her nose and turns awkwardly in a circle. The overpowering smell is enough to make her faint from its strength.

"The food court?" groans Naomi.

"There's four-star food, which my dad makes, and mall food, which I don't tell my dad I eat," admits Ozzie.

This isn't paradise, except for starch-loving, sweet-craving teenagers who are totally fine with pimples and break-outs. The occasional Snickers or smoothie is okay. Other than that, she's not interested.

"You can't be serious," says Naomi.

"I am," insists Ozzie. "You need fuel for shopping, right? And don't tell me you haven't tasted the cinnamon pretzels."

"I haven't tasted...," begins Naomi.

"No....just, come with me," interjects Ozzie. "That's...that's not right."

"Ozzie!" protests Naomi.

He grabs her hand and they approach the pretzel stand. The sweetest scents that she's ever sniffed enter her nostrils. Steam rises from a metal plate in the rear, a vendor manipulating dough into twisty tie patterns. Gurgling lemonade and ice water shine in their respective dispensers. An employee shifts his white hat and apron before talking to them.

"What can I do for you?" asks the employee.

"Two cinnamon pretzels and two waters," orders Ozzie.

"Coming right up," says the employee. "That'll be six fifty."

"Six fifty for a confection that will lead to a coronary!" cries Noami.

"Uhhh....no," says the employee weakly.

"Chill, Clark," says Ozzie, patting a stool for her to sit on.

Naomi sits with Ozzie taking the seat next to hers. She has to confess that it's nice to actually sit down instead of standing while holding the garments of the girls. She can relax for a moment.

"Your pretzel, miss," says the employee, though he appears a bit nervous.

She hesitantly holds the treat.

"Dare ya," speaks up Ozzie.

"I'll humor you...this one time," says Naomi.

Naomi bites the top corner, powdery brown sugar immediately covering her lips, grease touching her tongue. Her fingers were also the victims of excess sugar. That said, it's the right mix of tangy and sweet, delicious in the dirty sense. Naomi grins and bites it again. Ozzie beams.

"That's a carb, by the way," teases Ozzie.

"Shut up," murmurs Noami, fetching a napkin to wipe her mouth.

"Good?" says Ozzie.

Naomi nods. Before she can go on about the wonders of the processed sugar products, she hears her name being called and lowers the pretzel to the counter. The person calling her is weird, however. It's Dixon, who she rarely talks to in school. Although, that may because he's related to Annie. Alright, there is no "may"s about it. It _is_ because he's related to Annie.

"Sorry to bother you, guys," says Dixon.

"No prob, man," says Ozzie.

"Hey, Dixon," says Naomi.

"I came by after my practice to get a pizza for Dad," explains Dixon. "But I saw you and was wondering..."

"Yes?" says Naomi.

"Silver kinda disappeared mid-practice," shares Dixon. "I couldn't go after her then. Looked like she and her sister were arguing. She wasn't at home, either."

Ozzie and Naomi exchange a look.

"Is she alright?" says Naomi.

"I was too far away to see her face," says Dixon. "She won't answer her cell, though, which is..."

"Unusual," fills in Naomi, knowingly.

Silver really kept up to date with all things technological-- her blog, her cellphone, even those little electronic keychain pets when they were kids. Something must be going on.

"If she were upset, do you know of any places where she might be?" asks Dixon.

Ozzie stares at her tenderly, like he cares, though he hasn't met Silver to her knowledge. She certainly cares too. Just because the Blendeds were her new friends doesn't mean that she doesn't care about her old best friend. Naomi unzips her purse and grabs a napkin.

Noami sighs. "I can give you three."

IV.

"I'm ready to communicate with you now."

Silver's hand dips into the bag, removes a few kernels of caramel popcorn, and goes up to her chin. Her legs are Indian-style, her black leggings touching the top of the large beach towel she went to the Wilsons' to fetch. Luckily, nobody was at the Wilson home when she arrived. Annie and Debbie were on some nature hike. That explained the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then, of course, Dixon and his dad were on the field. Tabitha? Well, she kept most of her dalliances private. This is how she'd like her special spot to remain-- private.

Movies on the Lawn, or MOTL as she commonly called it, was in existence since she was nine. Every Saturday evening, they'd hoist up a large movie theater-size screen in the middle of the park's lawn. They were free because most of the movies they did show were five years older or more. Anybody hoping to catch the latest installment of James Bond or Twilight would be better off at AMC. A film committee, composed of people in their twenties, chose the flicks and Silver regularly checked what was playing. This is where she saw E.T. eat his first M&M, Truman Burbank learn the truth of his television-set existence, and Jack Sparrow leisurely down the last of his rum. Kelly was willing to drive her to the lawn if the movie was rated PG13; how lame can you get? But Kelly was pretty good with the snacks. Naomi used to go with her, especially if the picture starred Brad Pitt or Paul Walker. She wasn't into _Seven_ nearly as much as Silver. Silver has yet to invite Annie to the lawn. Annie was kind of delicate in terms of viewing movies so she had to be choosy there.

The best nights were the nights that she came here and then went to the shelter afterwards. Silver didn't go home, or drive by home, or anything. She could forget everything that was there that made her sad. No, instead, she got to be around people who were truly enjoying themselves, or at least pretending to. Rarely did the Movies on the Lawn disappoint. Tonight's offering, _The Sixth Sense,_ had to be on the list of best modern movies.

"Communicate?" asks Toni Collette.

Her character, Cole's mom, is in a car with her son. They are held up due to an accident. Playing Cole, Haley Joel Osment squinches his face.

"Tell you my secrets," says Haley Joel Osment.

Their bodies are somewhat blurred by a long black shadow. The audience groans and Silver stares at the screen, puzzled.

"Sit down!" calls over a guy with a beanie on his head.

Silver turns, and faces front again. Her heartbeat increases in speed.

"Sorry," apologizes Dixon, approaching the towel. "Sorry...sorry, ma'am...oh, sorry."

His apologies stop as he reaches Silver and crawls onto the towel.

"Hey," greets Silver, releasing the kernels into her bag.

What's he doing on the Lawn? This isn't his thing, or is it? The dialogue from the film becomes softer as she's focused so much on Dixon.

"You're a tough person to track down," says Dixon, wiping his brow.

"You were....," starts Silver, her voice fading.

She scans the audience, most of whom have resumed watching the film. There were quite a few couples, film fans apparently anxious to get the most out of the nice autumn nights before winter came. Some blankets and towels had picnic baskets on the top and she spies a couple kissing as a woman with a bleeding wound appears on the screen. This isn't a date for her, though. It has the qualities of a date. Still, not a date, she tells herself. What are you doing? Speak.

"This is...kind of my thing," says Silver, nervously.

"Cool movie," says Dixon. "The ending totally got me."

"I'm all about details so I figured it out," says Silver. "Not to sound...cocky or anything."

"No, I believe you," assures Dixon.

"Sorry for leaving practice," says Silver. "How'd you find me?"

"Naomi," replies Dixon.

Naomi? Well, it had to be someone who knew her pretty well, Naomi or Kelly.

"Did you get any footage you could use?" questions Dixon.

"Yeah...yeah, the action shots are really coming together," says Silver.

"So why'd you leave?" says Dixon.

Silver clears her throat. She'd rather not tell him, but the fact that he'd made the time to make sure she was okay deserves something.

"Family stuff," mumbles Silver.

"Oh," says Dixon.

"Yeah," replies Silver.

The situation is so helpless. When she was at the shelter, she honestly thought that the women would ask for help. They were being abused and mistreated, arriving at the shelter tired of it, ashamed of it. But the shame kept them quiet. Silver can more than relate. To tell someone that you don't understand why you're falling apart or to tell them that your family isn't as perfect is huge stuff. It's huge to her, when you live with a family like the Wilsons. That's why she's tried so hard not to talk about it. Silver grips her popcorn bag and wipes away a tear. Dixon moves a little closer, staring ahead at the screen.

"What are you thinking, Mama?" says Cole. "You think I'm a freak?"

"Look at my face," says his mother. "I would never think that about you."

There were no conversation that resembled that with her own mother. In fact, they haven't had two sympathetic words for each other in years. Mothers were supposed to be good at those. Wasn't it their specialty? Or maybe that's what you believe when you've seen countless mothers in movies.

"Dixon, you said your mother had problems," speaks up Silver, shyly glancing at him.

"We couldn't live with each other anymore," says Dixon, nodding.

"Did you...did you feel bad leaving her?" says Silver.

"I do, but it was for the best...I think," answers Dixon.

Silver sniffles.

"Sometimes I don't think it's for the best, with my mom," confesses Silver. "She's alone. She's like...a ten-minute drive away, but she's alone, you know?"

"Kelly said it was best you stay with us," reminds Dixon.

"We don't talk," says Silver. "My mom and I used to. She used to say I love you, that she was proud of me. Typical nice mom things."

"That probably still applies, and it'd be good to have some space," says Dixon.

"I get that," says Silver. "I really do. But it's scary not knowing what's going to happen."

"Whatever happens, you'll be safe," insists Dixon, touching her knee softly. "I'll make sure of that."

Silver puts her hand over his on her knee. In the silver light of the screen, his shaved head gives off a lustrous glow like a polished diamond or the top of a shiny marble statue. His features look angelic and his eyes shine.

"So perfect," breathes Silver.

"Huh?" says Dixon.

"I mean," she rushes to say. "Your family...so perfect."

Dixon laughs. "They're cool. Not perfect, though."

"When I was smaller, I'd watch those corny vacation films on cable, with the tight-knit nuclear family," admits Silver. "I'd pretend to escape with them. That's what movies do. They...they let you escape."

"You love this, don't you?" says Dixon, gesturing to the screen.

"I do," says Silver, smiling. "Hello, you can solve any problem in ninety minutes."

They chuckle. Dixon lets his arm fall as her expression falls. She definitely liked his arm being there. He's there though. That's what counts.

"I have patented popcorn preferences, too," goes on Silver.

"Now, this I gotta hear," says Dixon.

"Okay, horror movies are masterpieces to me," says Silver. "Even the cheesy ones are full of comedic potential. Therefore, they're accompanied by caramel goodness, my top choice. This is more of a suspense thriller, but there's enough of a creep factor for me to indulge in said treat."

She passes her bag to him and Dixon eats a handful.

"For adventure flicks, I go the cheddar route," continues Silver. "It's exciting, so of course, I need something spicy, right?"

"Right," laughs Dixon.

"Plain butter is typically for films that make me think, so mild and normal that I'm more focused on...."

"The film rather than what you're eating?" guesses Dixon.

"You're in here, man," says Silver, pointing to her head.

"That's a pretty nice place to be," says Dixon with a smile.

Now that? Was sweet. Silver feels her cheeks grow hot and she surrenders the bag to Dixon.

"Thanks for letting me ramble," she whispers.

"Anytime," promises Dixon. "And you don't have to ask to do it."

"Okay," says Silver, stretching out her legs.

The film continues, the screen against the backdrop of a perfectly clear, midnight blue sky. You can see the stars if you're searching. She's not searching. She'll worry about that later. She takes a deep breath and reaches over to hug him. He relaxes in her hold and his heart beats soundly against her own.

"She said...the answer is, everyday," whispers Cole. "What did you ask?"

"Do I...do I make her proud?" replies his mother before bursting into tears.

Silver closes her eyes to the pale silver light reaching beyond the screen, the conversation repeating over and over again in her ears, like a repetitive reel.


	6. Home

**VI. Home**

_I'll be coming home  
Just to be alone  
Cause I know you're not there  
And I know that you don't care  
I can hardly wait to leave this place_

_No matter how hard I try  
You're never satisfied  
This is not a home  
I think I'm better off alone  
You always disappear  
Even when you're here  
This is not my home  
I think I'm better off alone  
Home, home, this house is not a  
Home, home, this house is not a home_

_By the time you come home  
I'm already stoned  
You turn off the TV  
And you scream at me  
I can hardly wait  
Till you get off my case_

_No matter how hard I try  
You're never satisfied  
This is not a home  
I think I'm better off alone  
You always disappear  
Even when you're here  
This is not my home  
I think I'm better off alone  
Home, home, this house is not a  
Home, home, this house is not a_

_Home, home, this house is not a  
Home, home, this house is not a home_

_I'm better off alone_

_No matter how hard I try  
You're never satisfied  
This is not a home  
I think I'm better off alone  
You always disappear  
Even when you're here  
This is not my home  
I think I'm better off alone  
Home, home, this house is not a  
Home, home, this house is not a_

_Home, home, this house is not a  
Home, home, this house is not a home_

**Home is the property of Three Days Grace.**  
**AN: Don't worry, Naomi/Ozzie fans! There will be plenty of them in the next chapter. :)**

"I'm jumping on the bed!" chants Parisa, her lime-green nightgown rising to her knees as she bounces. "I'm jumping on the bed!"

Adrianna rights the Toronto Film Fest T-shirt she's now wearing, goes to the doorway of Parisa's pastel-covered room. Her original, dressy shirt is in the wash. Navid offered her the Film Fest tee while it dried. After Iman's successful bid to splatter her shirt with peas, both she and Navid decided that it was time for bed. Parisa, on the other hand, has a different opinion.

"I'm touching the ceiling!" continues Parisa. "I'm touching the ceiling!"

"Alright, you little acrobat," says Adrianna as she enters.

"Let's see how far you can get, Adrianna," says Parisa.

"Nope, because it's time for bed," informs Adrianna.

She manages to get a hold of Parisa's arm before she can leap again. Parisa moans and gets under the covers. Either her mother or Parisa, more likely Parisa, is a pastel fanatic. The cupboards and drawers were a light pink while most everything else was a light blue, including the bed's headboard.

"Are you staying the night?" asks Parisa.

Leave it to a kid younger than nine to ask that question. Adrianna blushes.

"No," answers Adrianna.

"Is it because of what Iman did?" says Parisa. "I can talk to her. She'll listen to me."

"My own mom's...expecting me," says Adrianna.

This is not a complete lie. Constance expects her home, eventually. She's sure her mother would realize she was gone within thirty-two hours or so. That was just a shot in the dark honestly.

"Does your mom have pretty dark hair like you?" questions Parisa.

"She's a blonde," replies Adrianna. "Hers is thicker, though."

"What kinds of hats does she have?" says Parisa.

"Just...normal hats," shrugs Adrianna. "Come on. I'll tuck you in."

She'll tuck her in so they won't have to keep talking. While folding the comforter and sheets around Parisa's small body, she can't recall having much of this once she hit a certain age. Her mother started working longer and longer hours, and if she did come into Adrianna's room, it was mainly to get the scoop on the day's events. Did the director give you any comments? What's your onscreen father really like? Did you read that new script in your trailer? The questions were delivered so quickly Adrianna wouldn't be able to answer, thinking on it and yawning instead, with Constance condemning that as rude. Her mother left, while Adrianna promised herself that she'd read the new script first thing in the morning because she was so rude. Was she, though? Adrianna fluffs Parisa's pillow a little.

"Mission accomplished," says Adrianna.

Adrianna turns to leave, stopped by Parisa telling her to wait.

"You didn't tell me your favorite animal," says Parisa.

Well, she did ask Parisa that earlier, and thought of her own animal figurines.

"Horses," shares Adrianna.

"Oooh, that's good," mulls Parisa, tapping her chin.

"Good night, Parisa," says Adrianna.

"Night!" says Parisa. "Make sure Navid sets his alarm."

Adrianna laughs. "Okay."

Closing the door behind her, Adrianna walks slowly to the nursery a couple doors down. She detects a small voice, stops, and walks again. The voice is getting louder and clearer. Adrianna stalls at the entrance.

"_Rubber duckie, you're the one_," sings Navid, making the plastic mallard swim on the side of Iman's crib.

"Eh," coos Iman.

"_You make bathtime lots of fun_," sings Navid.

"Ahhh!" cries Iman gleefully, then stuffing the duck's bottom in her mouth.

"Yeah, I'm not touching that anymore," says Navid.

Iman lays down, the toy's butt still in her mouth. Navid glances around the nursery and spies Adrianna, unable to hide the amused smile on her face.

"She's...into that song," defends Navid.

"Looks like it's more dinnertime than bathtime," kids Adrianna.

The duck is dropped as Iman attempts to fetch her blanket. Navid pulls it around her and shuts off a white and green lamp in the corner. It's not so strange to watch him doing this. The first image she remembers from the Shirazi home is coming there and seeing Navid, with Iman close to his chest in a baby bjorn. The moment was sweet, but even more it said a lot about him. In truth, the moment made him more attractive. She couldn't picture any guys from the sophomore class in the same light and didn't want to.

"Sweet dreams, Iman," whispers Navid, kissing his sister's forehead.

After switching on the baby monitor, Navid guides Adrianna out of the nursery and towards the den.

"Finally," sighs Navid. "We're alone."

"And what were you planning to do when we were alone?" teases Adrianna.

"Wasn't coloring, that's for sure," says Navid, smirking.

Navid takes her hand and flips on the light for the den. A large, plasma-screen TV is on the right, opposite a stylish gold couch. Adrianna's eyes, however, go straight to a table in the rear. There sits Navid's mini-camcorder, his film theory book, and a notebook. His project. Ugh, that was one of the conditions to her coming over. She'd take on his charges so that he could get some work done.

"Your mockumentary...you haven't started," groans Adrianna.

"I have everything outlined," assures Navid. "It's actually been in my head for awhile."

"Tomorrow, you can do whatever, and I think Iman and Parisa are used to me by....," starts Adrianna.

"Stop," interjects Navid. "Still got over a week left."

"So it doesn't take long to expose the flaws of West Bev?" says Adrianna.

"Not for a budding documentarian," replies Navid. "Sit. I can show you what I've got."

"Cool," says Adrianna.

Adrianna takes a seat on the comfy couch, folding her hands together. She'd chosen her project before coming here. "A Day On The Set of _Spring Awakening_". Any film buff would appreciate a round of interviews with budding actors, light designers, directors, or propmasters. Adrianna would get the okay from Brenda, who likes her, and start the ball rolling on Tuesday.

"And lemme just press play....,' says Navid, joining her on the couch.

The various images scrolling across the camera, Adrianna doesn't pay attention as she looks at the side of Navid's face. She remembers when they were last like this. They were making out and suddenly on the floor, with her peeling her clothes off and supplying Navid with a condom. She was doing what she thought was expected of her, but Navid didn't expect anything. He was so open-minded when she sat him down for a talk and explained her actions to him. She likes to believe that's when they became official because they held hands and left the quad together. It wasn't the last of the hand-holding, and she hopes for many other nights similar to this one.

Adrianna scoots closer and stares at the small window of the camera.

"West Beverly High School," narrates an unseen Navid. "Los Angeles, California. 90210. Home of tanned, teenage text addicts. While it's a large institution, if you're lucky, you'll find your niche. Lacrosse lotharios..."

A picture of Ethan flirting with a random redhead appears. Adrianna giggles.

"Media mavericks..."

The camera catches Silver eating fries, then tossing one at Navid behind it.

"Dramatic darlings..."

"_Iiiiit's alright, cause I'm saved by the bell_," sings Annie, pacing on the stage as the camera follows her. She waves when she spots Navid.

"This is great, Navid," compliments Adrianna, looping her arm through his.

Navid says nothing, and lets his head rest against hers.

"And once in a while, a genuine star," finishes narrator Navid.

Taking in a sudden breath, Adrianna sees herself, on the center stage of the auditorium, singing "Mama Who Bore Me" as the back-up singers and dancers perform similar motions. She knows it's an emotional song but she's not prepared for the look of anguish as she reaches the glory note near the end. Adrianna lifts her gaze.

"Um, could you not show that?" asks Adrianna.

"What's wrong?" says Navid with a puzzled grin. "I didn't mean for...does it come off as arrogant? That's how I see you, a future star."

"No, Navid," insists Adrianna. "I..."

"It's a beautiful song, Ade," says Navid. "I mean, listen to yourself."

Adrianna closes her eyes as her voice fills the den, her voice rising with each passing second. She's silent and not silent at the same time. A tear glides down her cheek and passes her closed lips.

_Mama who bore me_

_Mama who gave me_

_No way to handle things_

_Who made me so sad..._

"Stop," begs Adrianna, quietly. "Stop...stop the tape."

Navid speedily stops the footage. Adrianna separates herself from him and stares at the floor.

"You don't like watching yourself on film?" says Navid.

"I don't want that in there," says Adrianna, folding her arms.

"Why not?" asks Navid.

"Because...because I don't!" cries Adrianna, being loud without really meaning to. "I...I sound horribly sharp."

"The singing's perfect," counters Navid.

"How I look?" continues Adrianna. "Dreadful. I mean, even professional actresses avoid their own movies. Now, I know why."

"You're stunning on stage," says Navid.

Why isn't he getting it? This particular song was hard to sing and difficult to watch. He can't honor her choice? Adrianna unfolds her arms and stands.

"Navid, you didn't have my permission to film that, okay?" says Adrianna.

Looking cluelessly from side to side, Navid leaves the couch too, trying to put an arm around her. She steps away from him.

"I'd...I'd need to get back into the editing room...," begins Navid.

"I don't care how you do it, just...just scrap it!" cries Adrianna.

Navid sighs deeply and nods. Man, he looks so discouraged. But she can't have a classroom of people view that scene and wonder, wonder about her. Her classmates were already bashing her for her drug use. Do they need to see her as an emotional wreck, view her as weak? What if the other students whispered about her, did a quick analysis on the lyrics she's singing? They would brand her as some poor girl that had an uncaring mother, who turned to drugs. While they might have other theories, that one might trump than all.

"Gotta...gotta go home," chokes out Adrianna. "I'll...I'll be here tomorrow morning."

"Ade?" says Navid.

But she's already left the room, charging down the many steps of the Shirazi suitcase. The knob of the front door glows gold when she reaches it. It's the last concrete thing she feels as she walks into the airy autumn night.

II.

Silver lifts the stick, the ball spinning in the sky. She catches it leisurely in the net and scowls. Really, she was kind of hoping it was harder.

"I saw that," announces Dixon. "You're getting better."

Dixon chugs some water from a bottle as Silver stares at the goal behind her. Here it is, nearing nine, and Dixon is going far too easy on her. She can tell. Girls pick up on that sort of thing faster than guys. He gets into position and motions for the ball.

"Tell it to me straight," says Silver. "How can it be that you're the best on the team and haven't scored a single goal against me?"

"I'm making it a fair game," replies Dixon. "Your fair, first game."

"Fair as in wussy," argues Silver, shaking her head.

"All coaches start their new players on easy stuff during training," says Dixon.

"Who asked for easy?" says Silver, crouching with her stick to the ground. "Or slow? Or patronizing? I'm going to figure out this game if it kills me...or well, hurts me. Come on, Wilson. Bring it."

At least she resembles a female lacrosse player, Dixon acquiring Annie's intramural jersey from her as soon as she returned from Best Buy. She has on Annie's shirt, her own sweatpants, and Dixon's back-up pads.

"Alright," says Dixon. "Can't resist tempting, trash talk from a pretty girl."

"I think the expression is...man up?" says Silver with a large smile.

"I'll show you man up," chuckles Dixon.

He gets into the spot for a proper face-off, their sticks nearly touching. Silver guesses it's her turn to toss the ball since Dixon doesn't fetch it. The ball goes into the air with her assistance, Dixon side-stepping past her and running to the goal as he collects the ball. Silver blows some hair out of her face and jogs after him. He's much too fast and she winces when he scores as soon as she catches up.

"You were saying?" kids Dixon.

"Hair was in my face," says Silver, smiling as she turns back to him.

"Okay, Rapunzel," laughs Dixon, softly poking her in the thigh with his stick.

"You!" cries Silver, going after him and missing by an inch.

Dixon handily races around the Wilson backyard, Silver getting close three times. Their play is interrupted, unfortuntely, by the appearance of someone who could play lacrosse less successfully than her.

"Kel?" says Silver, stopping in a mid-jog.

"Hate to interrupt," apologizes Kelly, glancing at Dixon. "I...I have to talk to her."

"That's fine," says Dixon. "I'll remember the score."

"Remember I'm winning," points out Silver.

"For now," sighs Dixon with a smirk.

The living room is empty, Silver sensing that the Wilsons have made themselves scarce for this conversation to take place. She wishes they'd stayed. Everything she wanted to say to Kelly has already been said. When she ran from the field, she'd figured Kelly had taken the hint. But she's stuck where she is tonight. She has no car and is winded after her and Dixon's backyard match.

"I think we can talk about this maturely, can't we?" says Kelly, patting the couch for Silver to sit.

Doing so, Silver plays with the loose jersey and barely faces Kelly.

"So...I went to mom's after you ran off," says Kelly.

"Huh?" says Silver, giving her eye contact without hesitating.

Kelly can go to their mother's house, but she can't?

"Silver, it's not what you think," says Kelly. "Nobody answered when I was there. My guess is that Mom was passed out."

"Yeah, probably," agrees Silver though she hates to admit it.

"In any case, I left her a note," continues Kelly. "I told her that if she wanted to be a part of our lives, she'd have to clean her act up. Get some counselling."

Silver shakes her head repeatedly. "A note is _not_ a conversation."

"Oh, so what would talking to her while she's plastered accomplish?" says Kelly.

"How would you know if you didn't try?" cries Silver.

"I know a lot of things," counters Kelly, lowering her gaze. "A lot of things you don't know."

"Cause you're older?" says Silver as she folds her arms.

Why does it have to be this way? Kelly does this, and Kelly does that. When is she going to check with her? She can't write a note on both of their behalves. Kelly can't speak for her.

"No, because I was an addict too," says Kelly.

Silver's eyes widen as she takes in her sister's expression. Kelly's mouth is firm and her shoulders are tense. If she's lying, it's the most convincing lie Silver's ever heard. Kelly, her straight-lace, plant-obsessed sister, the counsellor at school, suffered from addiction? There's that saying that you can't tell anyone how to live without going through it. This new information gives those words extra weight.

"Cocaine, in college," informs Kelly, touching Silver's shoulder. "I got involved with a guy who was into it, had drama with him, an unreliable dad...and, well, those aren't great ingredients for keeping a cool head. Things were so scary back then."

"David never mentioned...or Dad, or Mom....," stammers Silver.

"I'm sure they didn't want to embarrass me," says Kelly. "Could've been a lot worse if I didn't check into rehab as fast as I did."

"Wow," breathes Silver.

"Mom actually took me to rehab," shares Kelly. "So...this latest relapse of hers is pretty surprising. I really thought...well, never mind what I thought. Something else is happening entirely."

Kelly sniffles and makes a grab for Silver's hands. How could she not let her touch her after confessing something so personal? Silver gives her a weak grin.

"I had a lot of good friends who helped me through, a support system," says Kelly. "Addiction affects more than the addicts, though. Family members dealing with addicts also need a support system, like you have with the Wilsons."

"Kelly...." begins Silver.

"Please stay here, Silver," whispers Kelly, her lips trembling. "I can't have you be in a situation that's so hard for her, so hard for you. If she responds to the note, I'll be so happy for you, but if she doesn't...it's going to be tougher for you. I can handle it but you shouldn't have to, okay?"

A part of her would like to argue with her, yet the larger part of her is sensitive to her sister's confession, feels no animosity towards her any longer. What guts to reveal a skeleton in your closet. Silver nods reluctantly.

"And I do understand about the dance, for the record," says Kelly. "It's not you. Though, it's not every guy that can get you to wear a jersey..."

"Shut up!" cries Silver playfully, before pulling Kelly into a hug.

III.

"Soo...who won?" asks Harry devilishly.

"I did!" say Silver and Dixon simultaneously.

Debbie, Annie, and Harry laugh, as Silver and Dixon sit at the dinner table after clearing their plates. Dixon was a gentleman and let her have the first go at the shower and she knew his parents were waiting so she did a speedy, thorough shower so he could have it. There were no awkward run-ins, not that she hated when they did run into each other. "Harry, isn't this your third helping of pizza in the last three hours?" asks Debbie.

Her husband guiltily drinks some milk.

"The doctor said for you to cut down on the take-out," reminds Debbie. "CPK for lunch and dinner?"

"I'm eating a salad," says Harry, gesturing to his plate.

"Three pieces of lettuce is not a salad," affirms Debbie.

"A mini-salad," corrects Harry.

The debate goes on until Tabitha comes into the kitchen, a glass of brandy in her grip. They all stare silently at her for awhile.

"There's a piece of lemon meringue pie missing from the fridge," says Tabitha.

She leaves as quickly as she came. Debbie launches into another argument concerning Harry's diet as Silver and Dixon chuckle quietly.

"I love how your grandma can command a room with one sentence," whispers Silver.

"True actress, that one," agrees Dixon.

Not to be unnoticed, the other Wilson actress cradles Baby It and sings softly to him. Baby It has on a cotton purple dress and for some unknown reason, painted on red lips. Ethan likely has no idea and would reunite their lipstick-loving son in due time.

"Oh, before I forget, Dixon, take out the garbage, will ya?" says Debbie, then resuming her diatribe against too many sweets.

Dixon appears incredulous that his mother remembered, yet collects the trash bag anyway. Silver goes to him as he's tying it. The night is nice and she could use a bit of fresh air. However, she doesn't want to make it seem like she's following him outside....or anything.

"I can...um, help you put away the goal," offers Silver.

"Follow me," says Dixon.

It wasn't an obvious cover. The goal requires two sets of hands to move it back to the Wilson garage. Dixon goes into the yard and puts the trash into its can first. He murmurs that he'll take it to the curb after they carry the goal to its proper place.

"You get the right, I'll get the left," suggests Dixon.

"On it," says Silver.

She braces herself and releases a breath as they lift it. She doesn't release a breath again until the goal is safely set down on the stone floor of the garage. Rubbing her shoulders, Silver drops herself onto a stone bench with Dixon doing it too.

"This is a Saturday night," notes Dixon aloud.

"And?" prompts Silver.

"And we have nothing to do and nowhere to go," says Dixon.

"We're nerds," shrugs Silver. "What exactly were you expecting?"

Dixon chuckles. "You're right. Sadly."

"What'd you do in Kansas on Saturday nights?" questions Silver.

"During the fall?" says Dixon. "Hmmm, there was usually something to do. Games or dances."

With the last word, Dixon glances at Silver, then stares up into the sky. She's surprised when he doesn't keep talking. What's that supposed to signal? No, it can't be what she's thinking. Silver stretches her legs as she clears her throat.

"Most of the team is going shopping for Homecoming," speaks up Dixon.

"Is Annie?" asks Silver.

"Yeah, that's her kind of thing," says Dixon. "That, and going to Best Buy for practically ancient teen comedies."

As if on cue, the actress-slash-mother appears briefly to hand Dixon an extra trash bag, Baby It head-locked under her arm.

"_Don't wake me up_," sings Annie. "_Don't wake me up if I'm dreaming. California dreeeeeeams..."_

They both laugh once she's gone, maybe to break the tension. Is there tension? Is this some subtle way to see if she's going to the dance? Maybe, maybe not. Should she tell him that Homecoming isn't her thing? If she did go, which she hasn't considered, she'd go mainly to mock and collect some pictures for her blog. Or to hang out with him. Silver's cheeks go pink, pretty much her least favorite color.

"Silver!" calls Debbie, ducking her head out of the kitchen window. "You...have a guest."

Ergh, if it's Kelly again, she's going to be miffed. Kelly is the only real possibility. Why now? She has more than a desire to hear what Dixon is going to say next.

"Excuse me," says Silver, slowly standing.

"I'll move the trashcan," says Dixon.

Her walk is very labored but gets her to the living room. Once there, she's not sure she wants to go on living. The sight of her blonde mane makes Silver's temperature go south, as if a tiny thousand ice picks were being crammed into her neck. Jackie's blue eyes brighten when she views her daughter. Silver blinks furiously.

"Mom?" whispers Silver.

"Erin!" greets Jackie. "Come here. Give Mom a hug."

Silver fails to move, rather letting her mother go to her and embrace her. The strong smell that hovers over their desk at home has come with her to the Wilsons'. Silver slinks out of her hold, hugging herself with her shoulders low.

"Did you drive?" whispers Silver.

"No, Billy's with me," replies Jackie. "Don't slouch, sweetheart."

Jackie rights Silver's frame and turns to Debbie, Harry, and Annie who are all standing in the room with them. She would love to tell them to leave, spare herself any more embarrassment. Jackie's appearance isn't helping matters. Her cream blouse is haphazardly buttoned, the strap of her bra visible, and the constant smile on her face is clearly forced.

"Silver wrote me," explains Jackie. "I can't deny my daughter anything she wants."

"I'm not sure I quite understand," admits Debbie.

"Yes, we came to an agreement with Kelly," says Harry. "It might be best if we discuss this all together."

"Discuss what?" says Jackie, wrinkling her nose. "That I haven't seen both my daughters in weeks? That I have to trust complete strangers with her?"

Dizzily walking an inch, Jackie removes a sheet of paper and thrusts it at Harry.

"We have nothing to discuss, bub," says Jackie testily. "You aren't her father. Her father's off with some floozy in Florida. Last I heard. But...I don't hear much from him anymore. Do I, Erin?"

Silver strokes her brow. Airing their family troubles in the middle of a packed room? She'd love to sink into the floor because she feels like she's being crushed. Her chest is crunching together.

"Why don't we have a seat?" suggests Debbie.

"Can't stay," waves off Jackie. "Billy's parked outside."

"Well, he can come in," says Debbie.

"Are you so polite because you're pretty, or so pretty because you're polite?" slurs Jackie. "I like this woman, Erin. I like her a lot."

"Mom, please," begs Silver, trying to take her arm.

Jackie makes sure she misses and Silver stares wearily at the Wilsons. Annie passes her parents and stands by Silver.

"Ms. Silver...," begins Debbie.

"Taylor," corrects Jackie. "I want nothing to link me to her father."

"We don't mind having Silver here," insists Debbie. "She's a good kid."

"I know that!" exclaims Jackie.

"She's...actually tidier than _my_ two kids," says Debbie, good-naturedly.

"I know that, too," says Jackie, pursing her lips. "She's neat as a pin. Isn't that weird?"

Silver turns around, hands on her hips. Maybe she should try to get her mother into the car? This is uncomfortable for everyone involved, and she's responsible for her mother. Without Kelly here, she has to be, in fact.

"Mom, let's get you to the car," says Silver, going next to her.

"First, get your things," says Jackie, stroking Silver's hair. "Henry, Dana, I thank you for taking care of her. But she needs me...the letter said she needs me."

Needs her? Needs her like this? No, things were fine with the Wilsons until tonight. Things were normal and healthy, and she's ruining it! Silver chokes back a sob.

"Don't cry, baby," coos Jackie. "You'll miss them, but you can visit anytime."

"I don't want to go!" cries Silver.

"The Wilsons have already gone out of their way for you," says Jackie. "Now, don't take advantage of them."

Grabbing both sides of her head, Silver tries to stop her tears from falling, silently pleas for this to be a nightmare she can wake herself up from in a few seconds.

A horn honks in the distance. That sounds if followed by another, Dixon coming inside from taking out the trash.

"Oh, this seems as good a time as any to say hello to him," says Jackie.

Silver covers her eyes as Jackie extends her hand for Dixon to shake.

"Jackie Taylor, Erin's mom,"says Jackie.

"Dixon, ma'am," says Dixon.

Cautiously lowering her hands, Silver fixes her eyes on Dixon's, directed at her. Everybody's eyes are directed towards her. If this were a film, she'd edit out her mom, have the Wilsons still at the table, unaware of what a mess her life really is. What she can say to end this ugly scene?

"Kelly wrote that note!" exclaims Silver, facing her mother. "I didn't! How could you come here drunk...and pretending to care? You don't care! Leave!"

"Erin...."

She waits for what's coming next from her mother, and nothing does. Silver walks hurriedly from the room, to the yard, so she won't have to look at anyone anymore. She flanks the side of the house, sobbing and banging her fists against the wall. Her body aches from the pressure of not only the wall; it aches from the pressure her mother brought. Please let it go away, she moans inwardly. Let it go away.

"Silver?"

Her name is said shyly, so sweetly that it couldn't be her mother, could solely be one person.

"I'm...I'm so ashamed," chokes out Silver.

His brown hand grazes her glistening cheek.

"I want what you have, Dixon," cries Silver.

"What?" says Dixon.

"To go home and not worry about my mom being wasted," breathes Silver. "I'm beginning to think that's too much to ask."

"No, it's not," whispers Dixon.

"Where am I going to go now?" sighs Silver. "Your parents must think I'm a total burden."

"I know my parents," says Dixon. "They're not thinking that."

"I...I can't stay here," sobs Silver.

"You're the only one who believes that," whispers Dixon. "When you're a Wilson, you stick together."

Silver gazes up at him with a pained smile. "I'm not a Wilson."

"You are tonight," whispers Dixon, nodding.


	7. Victims of Love

**VII. Victims of Love**

_Oh eoh oh oh oh (x6)_

_In the beginning  
I tried to warn you  
You play with fire  
It's gonna burn you  
And here we are now  
Same situation  
You never listen  
I never listen_

_Now I'm thinking of a way that I can make an escape  
It's got me caught up in a web and my hearts the prey  
Do you really wanna throw your heart away, away, away_

_Everybody's hurt somebody before  
Everybody's been hurt by somebody before  
You can change, but you'll always come back for more  
It's a game and we're all just victims of love  
Don't try to fight it  
Victims of love  
You can't decide it  
Victims of love  
Oh eoh oh oh oh  
Victims of love  
Oh eoh oh oh oh_

_Now you're back  
Track you're running away  
Cause it just happened again  
And you just wanted to win  
Trying your best not to let yourself go cold, so cold  
Now you've figured out the things you thought you wanted to say  
but when you open up your mouth they don't come out that way  
Are you really gonna throw your heart away, away, away_

_Everybody's been hurt by somebody before  
You can change, but you'll always come back for more  
It's a game and we're all just victims of love  
Don't try to fight it  
Victims of love  
You can't decide it  
Victims of love  
Oh eoh oh oh oh  
Victims of love  
Oh eoh oh oh oh  
Victims of love_

_In the beginning  
I tried to warn you  
You play with fire  
It's gonna burn you  
And here we are now  
Same situation  
You never listen...  
I never listen_

_Everybody's hurt somebody before  
Everybody's been hurt by somebody before  
You can change but you'll always come back for more  
It's a game and we're all just victims of love  
Everybody's hurt somebody before  
Everybody's been wound by somebody before  
You can change, but you'll always come back for more  
It's a game and we're all just victims of love_

_Don't try to fight it  
Victims of love  
You can't decide it  
Victims of love  
Oh eoh oh oh oh  
Victims of love  
Oh eoh oh oh oh  
Victims of love_

**Victims of Love is the property of Good Charlotte.**

**Boys Boys Boys is the property of Lady Gaga.**

AN: Okay, so Navid/Adrianna got all the attention last chapter, so this chapter's focused on Ozzie/Naomi. N/A will return next chapter. The first O/N scene takes place the same day they went to the mall together. Please read and review so I'll know whether to continue or not. Thanks. Nikki

She did the impossible today. Exiting the automatic doors, Naomi hasn't purchased a single item from the rich stock of L.A.'s coolest offerings. And she doesn't hate herself for it. There's a first time for everything, but this is the strangest first she's had recently. Usually she didn't leave without at least a moderately priced tennis bracelet. The money is certainly available. With Homecoming on the horizon, her parents have been more understanding about how much she can spend. There was enough time. She and Ozzie were in the building for over two hours. So why did her love of revelling in a lack of buyers' remorse disappear this afternoon? Could it have been the company?

Ozzie chats on his cell, putting in a call to see if he had to work a shift at the restaurant. Ernesto was in SAT Prep and didn't know if he'd get there in time for his usual slot. Naomi flips her hair to see Ozzie smile warmly. Her guess is that he doesn't have to go. Good. Wait, why is that good? The guy said whatever he wanted to say to her without any reserve. He exposed her to fatty food and lead her to the undesirable part of the mall. Two hours is more than enough time to spend with someone. Naomi sighs and plays with the clasp on her clutch.

"Thanks," says Ozzie. "Yeah, I wasn't doing anything special, but..."

Quickly raising her head and staring at him, Naomi's mouth falls open.

"I am with a friend," continues Ozzie.

Naomi's lips fold into a small grin.

He closes his phone and they start toward the parking lot. Leaves blow back and forth, the autumn wind light and soothing. Naomi recognizes nobody from school in the courtyard, where teens are talking, flirting, and enjoying the weekend hours. A boy their age brushes away a piece of his girlfriend's hair away from her face. It's so sweet that it makes Naomi pause and stare.

"Um, Clark?" says Ozzie.

"What?" says Naomi, glancing at him.

"You're in a bit of a sticky situation," observes Ozzie, nodding to her foot.

She glances down and groans loudly. The sole of her shoe has been infiltrated by a wad of gum. Great. These were new, too.

"Wrigley on my Prada wedges?" cries Naomi. "Why should I have to pay for other people being grimey?"

"It's just gum," shrugs Ozzie.

"This isn't just any shoe, though," moans Naomi. "I should've just worn these in Bali and never put them on again."

"What good are shoes if you only wear them once?" says Ozzie.

"Are you sure you go to West Bev?" says Naomi, removing the shoe.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," teases Ozzie. "West Bev girls go crazy over their kicks."

"Of course, it didn't occur to you to warn me before this happened, right?" sighs Naomi. "And the last time anyone said the words kicks, I think Britney was babyless."

"I promise I didn't see it," replies Ozzie. "But I can fix it."

Ozzie wraps an arm around her waist, Naomi feeling his gentle grip against her abs. She lets his fingers touch her for a minute before shirking out of his hold, hopping to a nearby bench. Too bad it's dirty and she hops to a second one.

"You look really ridiculous," laughs Ozzie.

"Do I?" returns Naomi.

"Why not take off the other...", begins Ozzie.

"And risk my other foot being vulnerable to broken glass and rusty nails?" interrupts Naomi. "No thanks."

"Safety first," says Ozzie.

She's about to agree until Ozzie stoops and collects her in his arms. Naomi hits him squarely in the head with her purse, which has about as much of an effect as hitting him with a balloon apparently. Ozzie carries her to a fountain, the marble sides of it thankfully looking very clean. He props her up, Naomi not saying a word until she's in place.

"Stop," says Naomi, not as crossly as she would like.

"Yeah, you're a little too late," says Ozzie.

Naomi looks on as he retrieves a quarter from his pants pocket. He indicates for her to surrender the shoe and she does, looking at him questionably.

"You always have to put up a fight," sighs Ozzie as he angles the shoe.

He's as attentive to her Prada as he was when she was looking at him inspect shoes at Steve Madden. Inches from him, you'd think he'd be less mysterious to her, the sunlight falling onto his shoulders. But he is, and something is keeping him that way. The more she knows about him, the more she wants to know about other things about him. The thing is, however, is that he seems open to sharing it. It's her that's...trying to be aloof.

"So if you're not into accessories, what are your most prized possessions?" asks Naomi.

"I like accessories, for the record," clarifies Ozzie. "I'd rather have stuff that's more memorable. Concert tickets. Postcards. Photos. Stuff that carries memories."

"Well, I remember where I bought those," defends Naomi, nodding to her shoe.

Ozzie chuckles. "I'm sure you do."

"You always have friends around," notes Naomi. "So I bet you have a lot of those things."

"No photos of the Homecoming dance," says Ozzie. "In fact, me and my friends usually ditch it after twenty minutes."

The quarter digs under the gum very well and it snaps off with a squelching sound. Naomi winces at the gross noise. The gum came clear off.

"That's why we can't get a decent band, cause people don't take it seriously," says Naomi.

"It's a night of girls trying to one-up each other with their wardrobe, and guys trying to cop a feel," counters Ozzie. "How seriously should we take it?"

Ugh, another Ozzie observation that told her to look at school a different way. Dude needs a reality check. She was naive like that, but not anymore. Now, she knows the ropes and Homecoming is the ring where she's going to come out victoriously popular.

"You're wrong there, my friend," says Naomi with a smirk.

"Does this mean I don't get to choose the band?" jokes Ozzie.

"Give me my shoe," says Naomi, snatching it from him.

He snatches it right back, then props her foot up, and slides it on. His thumb touches her ankle and while her feet are normal body temperature, her cheeks are not. Ozzie smiles and takes his hand away.

"Um, are you going with your friends again this year?" asks Naomi.

"I don't know," says Ozzie, staring into her eyes. "Maybe."

"People would say you couldn't get a date," says Naomi, tilting her head a bit. "I'd try...to get one."

"It'd have to be a girl worth staying the whole dance for," says Ozzie.

"There are girls like that, but they're harder to get," assures Naomi.

"Thanks for warning me," whispers Ozzie.

No longer inches from him, Naomi lets the lids of her eyes fall as Ozzie leans in. The splashing water of the fountain creates a cool mist that rises to her neck, and the water thunders more rapidly when his nose is next to hers. She raises her eyes reluctantly, and now she's hating herself. Lana is in the background, shaking her head at Naomi wordlessly. While looking at Lana, Naomi turns her head and Ozzie's mouth meets her cheek.

"Oh, wow!" cries Naomi, hopping off the fountain. "Backside's getting drenched!"

"Huh?" says Ozzie.

"There's my friend, Lana, too," remarks Naomi. "We need to make limo arrangements for the dance. Be back in a sec."

Naomi walks straight to Lana, half annoyed, and half grateful that it's not Margery that's in the courtyard. Of all the times for a Blended to show up! That said, Lana's the sweetest of the girls. Before reaching Lana, she throws a look at Ozzie, who's staring after her as he strokes his chin. His eyes are unflinching as they peer at her. Okay, yeah, she shouldn't have ditched him like that. Why make her feel guilty from far away? Naomi grins nervously at Lana, Starbucks cup with cinnamon sticks in hand.

"Hey, Lana," greets Naomi. "I thought you were all shopped out."

"I came to get leggings," informs Lana.

"Oh," says Naomi.

"Naomi, you were...and you and he were...," stammers Lana. "Margery would not be pleased."

"We...we were having a moment," admits Naomi. "If Margery showed up, there'd be nothing for her to see."

"But you're at the Beverly Center!" exclaims Lana. "Which is...like...like...a pricier version of a fish tank. Everybody can see."

"He was checking my eyes," lies Naomi. "I had something in them."

"His eyes were closed," says Lana, putting a hand against her hip. "Duh. You must think I'm so stupid."

"I don't," insists Naomi.

"When Margery tells you stuff, it's for your own good," says Lana. "You know, guidance? Like Diddy when he makes a band."

"We're not official or anything," says Naomi.

"This will so delay you and Ethan returning to your old gold couple glory," sighs Lana, putting an arm on Naomi's shoulder. "OMG. Do you want that?"

"No," says Naomi quickly. "But Ethan...Ethan doesn't call me anymore or visit or...."

"Girl, we are here for you," reassures Lana. "I'll tell Margery that we need to move ASAP on the Ethan front."

Wait, what does that mean? That sounds potentially embarrassing. Naomi strokes her forehead.

"You don't have to...," starts Naomi.

"It's no problem since we're your friends," interjects Lana. "Ozzie's a tasty morsel, but obviously a diversion to fulfill your needs. I swear, by Homecoming, you will be with your soulmate. KYFC."

"You must text insanely," says Naomi, giving her a weak smile.

"I do!" cries Lana, giggling. "This will be our senior gift...to you. Nomes, keep the faith."

Lana pats her once more on the arm, and walks off, sipping her Starbucks and smiling at the same time.

Wonderful, thinks Naomi. The Blendeds will be planning to reorganize her love life, because they didn't think...well, it wasn't hard to remember what they thought of Ozzie. Is living in Van Nuys that bad? They didn't have to visit him. Besides, they'd graduate this spring and wouldn't be here to see them if they did date. No, she can't let herself disregard how they feel. It's not like she has other friends at the moment. Well, besides Ozzie.

Naomi looks from side to side, unable to find him. He's not at the fountain or at the benches. He must've left. She couldn't blame him. That's what she should get after that lame excuse and immaturely ditching him. Man, she's definitely not a girl worth staying for, that's for sure.

"Clark?" says a voice behind her.

She wrinkles her nose and turns in his direction.

"I'll drop you home," offers Ozzie.

"Thanks," says Naomi. "About what happened at..."

"Not in much of a mood for talking," interrupts Ozzie. "I'm meeting a couple of _friends_ so..."

Naomi nods and swallows a lump in her throat. The emphasis on the next to last word sits in her ears as she follows him across the courtyard. There's no trace of mystery from him in that statement. It tells her all she needs to know.

II.

"Any chance we can obliterate this evening?"

Silver moans the question, peeping into the house from the backyard with Dixon at her side. The world is still working against her because Jackie Taylor has yet to go. Silver's mother, holding a cup of coffee, sits next to Debbie. Annie and Harry are across from her. She figures she's been the main topic of conversation for the last twenty or so minutes.

"That sounds like something you'd do in a disaster movie," says Dixon, stroking her back gently.

Her muscles relax a hair, but she shakes it off. It's hard to be at ease with her here. Luckily, Billy has stayed in the car. She didn't want a complete stranger to be involved in this soap opera. The Wilsons were already knee deep in it. As calm as all of them look at this second, she really wonders if she should duck out, crash with Kelly at her place. Why ruin their normal family existence?

"If I ever did have a daughter, I'd name her Crystal Dream," says Annie.

Dixon snickers, and even Silver can't help but smirk. They fully enter the kitchen, Silver standing near the doorway.

"So movie-starish," muses Annie to herself.

The adults stare blankly at her until Jackie releases a loud sigh.

"Erin was right," says Jackie. "I had no business...well, I've definitely left a lasting impression, haven't I?"

Leaning against the door frame, Silver stares at Jackie. She appears to have sobered up a little, though tiredness may've overcome the drunkenness. Jackie's blue eyes blink madly as she takes a long sip of coffee. That was the feature that the three of them shared, the feature everybody recognized among the Taylor-Silver girls. Of course, these people didn't know the other circumstance that united them-- dealing with Jackie's alcoholism. That's not a similiarity you can easily detect.

"That's the difference between me and her," groans Jackie, sniffling. "Erin's got a good head on her shoulders."

"It's so weird to hear her be called Erin," admits Harry.

"Yeah, she doesn't like it," speaks up Annie.

"At this point in time, I wonder if it's because I gave the name to her," says Jackie, laughing sadly.

Her mother stands, her body looking more frail in the dimmer lamps of the living room. Silver almost wants to go with her, check that there's something waiting for her at home in the fridge. Silver coughs to make herself known.

"I don't hate my name," says Silver, casting her mother a couple quick glances. "Not that much."

"Erin," says Jackie softly.

"I can't do some long drawn out talk with you," says Silver, wiping her eyes to keep the tears at bay.

Jackie lowers her gaze.

"Like not right now," adds Silver.

"Can I say something?" asks Jackie, going to her. "Can I have a moment?"

She's not sure how they can even begin to reconcile in a moment, but it's better to say good-bye to her in private than in front of everybody. Silver shrugs. Harry leads Annie out by the shoulders, Dixon and Debbie following them. Silver side-steps Jackie and sits in a chair. Her mother sits in the opposite chair.

"Kelly's...Kelly's letter told me that if I didn't get help, I could lose you," says Jackie. "And...and that scared me. So I did what I do when I'm scared. I drank."

"And came here," says Silver, her eyes fixed to the floor.

"Billy tried to get me to stay home," insists Jackie.

"Some influence," says Silver, raising an eyebrow.

"It doesn't even feel like home," says Jackie. "Not without you girls. You...I guess I took you always being at home for granted, alright?"

Silver slides her fingers against her knees, looking hopefully at her mother. Jackie's face did look earnest, honest.

"How can I be sure what you're saying is for real?" asks Silver.

"Because I'm telling you, baby," answers Jackie, tenderly pulling at her hair.

"I have to be here," says Silver. "You...you have to understand that."

"I swear, Erin," whispers Jackie. "No....no, Silver. Silver, I'm going to take whatever steps I have to to not lose you."

Silver smiles half-heartedly.

"Those pesky twelve steps," kids Jackie. "We've all heard of them."

"I could go with you, to your first meeting," suggests Silver. "In fact, they have meetings near that shelter where I was staying. Jody can tell us about the program. We could go sign-up together."

"Is that what you really want?" asks Jackie.

"Yeah, that's what I want," breathes Silver, nodding vehemently.

"Give me the address and I'll meet you there," sighs Jackie. "Promise. First thing in the morning."

Wow, the letter worked. Kelly did have a clue what she was doing and now they can reap the benefits. It took absolute torture for things to get in gear, but maybe this is how it has to be for change to come. At the meetings, they can start listening to each other. There'd be people like Jackie, dealing with their addictions, and people like herself, who were willing to hear their family members out.

"We should call Kelly," suggests Silver.

"Um, you know how Kelly likes to take charge," says Jackie. "It can be...pretty intimidating. The second meeting, we'll invite her."

"Oh, okay," says Silver, allowing her last tears to fall. "As long as you're going."

"My baby," breathes Jackie.

Jackie beckons her into a hug. Silver can't remember the last time they've shared a hug where she wasn't wondering if this would be the only time before they left it. She falls completely into Jackie's chest. She hates sobbing when she's happy but some things you couldn't stop, and some things you didn't want to.

III.

Three lacrosse sticks drop to the grass in perfect synchronization, Naomi paying no mind as she examines her nails. The three sticks belong to the rookies and that's not who Naomi came here to see. Late last evening, she received a text from Margery telling her to show at the lacrosse field for the early morning practice. After complaining that today was the last day of the weekend, and scrummaging in her closet for cute pre-8 A.M. clothes, Naomi figured out what was going on. True to her word, Lana did contact Margery who contacted Ethan. When Naomi called Margery personally, she reassured Naomi that the kinks had been worked out and that nothing embarrassing had been said during the conversation.

Naomi would almost prefer that to the total absence of conversation that filled Ozzie's car when he drove her home. Ozzie wasn't friendly or chatty or an open book, his regular characteristics undetectable in the silence. Ozzie already knew the route to her house so not even directions had to be said. They'd gone from being so close to being so distant. She was responsible for the difference. Maybe that should be the end for whatever was going on between them. Better to nip it in the bud fast, and have a second beginning with Ethan. It's what she expected, right? What everyone expected. She didn't want to hurt Ozzie. The problem is is that she didn't want to forget him either. They had so much fun together and she hasn't had that much fun in weeks. But you can't have fun forever. Can you?

She shushes herself, catching sight of Ethan running a lap. He's with his teammates, their jerseys flying in the wind. Naomi whistles from the sidelines.

"Hey!" calls Ethan to her.

"You wanted to talk?" shouts Naomi.

"Next lap!" yells Ethan.

Naomi narrows her eyes and groans. He's going to make her wait a lap? Seriously? As much as she loathes every bone in her body for doing it, she does wait. Ethan arrives, catching his breath.

"Can't believe you're up this early," says Ethan.

"Well, I make exceptions for hot athletes in their prime," says Naomi, beaming at him.

"I'll be in my prime when we make regionals," counters Ethan. "So this is about Homecoming?"

"Ummm, I guess," says Naomi. "Didn't Margery tell you?"

"She said you needed a date," replies Ethan.

Naomi runs her tongue against her teeth. Bleh, make me sound pathetic, Margery, thinks Naomi.

"Had other options, but didn't know if you did," lies Naomi. "Since we usually go together..."

"I kind've accidentally asked Annie," says Ethan.

"What?" exclaims Naomi. "I mean, how you can ask out someone...accidentally?"

"We were arguing about the kid and were like, since we can't get a baby-sitter, and since we don't trust each other, why not just take the kid to the dance?" explains Ethan. "Uh, it made more sense yesterday."

"For the record, it doesn't make much sense now!" says Naomi.

"I can get my cousin to take you," offers Ethan.

"The cousin who sniffed my bra that one time?" cries Naomi. "Gag. E, what about...what about our memories? It's tradition."

"I'll find you for a dance before the night's through," promises Ethan. "Gotta do another lap. Sorry, Naomi."

He cheerfully joins his teammates on their run of perspiration. Naomi balls her fists together. That unfeeling, non-sentimental, sweaty...oh, so many more adjectives she'd like to scream at him. Instead, she turns heel and heads straight for her car in the lot. The lot isn't empty. The cars of the lacrosse players, Coach Wilson's, and the team van aren't surprising to view, but the other vehicle is, that's for sure.

"Can't believe this," moans Naomi.

Two teenage boys in cotton shirts lean against the hood of the car, a girl in the passenger seat. The girl has thick brown hair, wearing a light blue sweater over a white shirt. She applies more lip gloss as the fourth member of their crew removes a couple boxes of bottled water from the trunk of his car. Ozzie stacks the two boxes of Deer Park waters and meets Naomi's gaze.

"Lacrosse suddenly got interesting," says one of Ozzie's friends, sizing up Naomi.

"Clark, what are you doing here?" asks Ozzie.

"You answer first," says Naomi, hoping to buy some time so she won't have to answer that question.

"Miguel's our compadre, la nina preciosa," replies the first boy who spoke. "He's on the team and Ozzie's father gives them free bottled water."

"That's nice," says Naomi, staring at Ozzie.

"We're a nice type of crowd," says the boy, walking to Naomi. "You might even say we're open to being more friendly."

I'm open to you leaving me alone, sighs Naomi inwardly. Thankfully, she doesn't have to say anyhing.

"Slow your roll, man," says Ozzie.

"Do I ever interrupt your game?" asks the boy.

"What game?" returns Ozzie. "You're named after Ricky Ricardo, man."

Ozzie's two other pals laugh, Ricky blushing furiously. He takes the bottled water and heads to the field, bumping Ozzie playfully as he goes.

"That's Ricky," introduces Ozzie. "This is Carlos, and Marci."

"Hi," says Naomi.

His other two friends wave, with Carlos hopping into the driver's seat.

"Never figured you'd have a friend that was on the lacrosse team," says Naomi.

"I don't like to limit myself," says Ozzie. "Yep, I have no trouble being seen with anybody."

He turns his back to her, going to close his trunk. No way is she going to let him get away with that. So what if it is a little true? Well, she isn't going to let him get the last word. Naomi joins him at the trunk.

"Privacy time," laughs Carlos, flipping on the car radio.

"Don't touch me," moans Marci, sticking a hand in Carlos' face.

_Hey there sugar baby  
Saw you twice at the pop show  
You taste just like glitter  
Mixed with rock and roll  
I like you a lot lot  
Think you're really hot hot  
_

Starting to situate other items in his trunk, Ozzie keeps his face down as he moves them. Naomi puts a hand on her hip.

"What exactly are you trying to imply?" questions Naomi.

"Only that I wouldn't run screaming from the hills if I didn't get the best seat in the house," replies Ozzie.

"Your dad owns a restaurant," says Naomi. " There are best seats in there. What, you hate people that want to sit in certain places?"

"No, I hate snobs," says Ozzie, staring at her without flinching.

"I'm not a snob!" cries Naomi.

"You aren't," says Ozzie. "You just hang with them."

_Boys boys boys  
We like boys in cars  
Boys boys boys  
Buy us drinks in bars  
Boys boys boys  
with hairspray and denim  
Boys boys boys  
We love them!_

"Do you see me judging your friends?" throws back Naomi.

"Do you see me hiding you from my friends?" counters Ozzie.

Naomi takes her hand from her hip and stares off at the field. There are three dots running to the center of it. One of those dots has to be Ethan. He might as well be running away from her. Like I ran from Ozzie, she scolds herself.

"What's it going to take for you to stop hating me?" sighs Naomi.

He closes the trunk with a loud thud.

"Go to the dance with me," says Ozzie.

The dance? So basically she has to not only tell the Blendeds that she, Naomi Clark, got rejected by Ethan, but was genuinely asked out by the boy they wouldn't approve of. That'll be quite the breakdown.

"Come on, Clark," says Ozzie, smirking. "I dare ya."

"I don't take dares," says Naomi, nervously fussing with her hair.

"Alright, then I'm asking you, again," says Ozzie. "Naomi, will you go to the dance with me?"

"You know my first name, huh?" says Naomi.

"You can stop stalling any time," sighs Ozzie.

Naomi glances at the field a final time, hoping against hope that Ethan will say yes and she won't have to deal with this turn of events. But man, wouldn't it be simple to say yes? They'd probably have fun too.

"Clark, you know what?" sighs Ozzie. "Can't deal with all of these games. Forget it."

"Well, I can't deal with you!" remarks Naomi, walking off.

She starts across the parking lot, almost to the spot where Ozzie enticed her two days ago to take her to the restaurant. She took a chance then and wound up enjoying pretty much every second of it. He hasn't pushed her to do anything, not like the Blendeds, and he clearly didn't need to be pushed so spend time with her, like Ethan. Naomi circles around and advances to him, Ozzie leaning against the car door. His eyes haven't left her.

_I'm not loose, I like to party  
Let's get lost in your Ferrari  
Not psychotic or dramatic  
I like boys and that is that  
Love it when you call me legs  
In the morning buy me eggs  
Watch your heart when we're together  
Boys like you love me forever_

Naomi clutches the center of Ozzie's shirt and lets her mouth go to his. Unlike yesterday, she's aiming this time, perfect aim, the softness of his lips and chin rubbing against her own. There are catcalls in the rear from his friends as the kiss continues. Ozzie holds her to him, his fingers splaying against her back, his elbows touching the very top of her thighs. Naomi breaks away with a deep sigh.

"I take it you're sick of playing games too?" asks Ozzie with a grin.

"Nope," sighs Naomi. "I'm just getting started."

She pushes him, Ozzie falling into the driver's seat, his body over Carlos' and Marci's.

"Hey!" complains Marci.

"Find me on Monday," says Naomi, smirking. "We have dance details to discuss."

Ozzie folds his arms behind his head and lays back in the seat. Naomi laughs, sauntering off slowly.

IV.

"Silver!"

The very enthusiastic greeting doesn't bug her in the least. Silver moves her black and grey scarf to the side to hug Patience, a California blonde who broke every stereotype imaginable. Her chauffeur, Dixon, stands awkwardly in the lobby. Dixon twirls his keys. It's kind of funny. When she came mid-way through their practice, Dixon had every idea what to do with his hands, and presently, he's as nervous as they come.

She was nervous when she first came here too. How many fifteen-year olds randomly go to women's shelters when they need a place to crash? While she wasn't the only teenager in there, she was the only one who stayed routinely. Most of the other young girls did it for one night and found somewhere else. The women in their twenties and thirties were more likely to call this place home. Their ages didn't bother Silver. She and Kelly were close so it was no big deal to hang out with them. Plus, they were very giving of themselves. They told their stories and didn't mind that Silver didn't tell hers. Patience, the woman who ran the program, was the same way.

"Is that boy the reason I don't see you anymore?" teases Patience, releasing Silver.

Silver glances at Dixon. "_Noooooo_."

"That's more like a _yesssss_ to me," laughs Patience. "How are you?"

"Good, honestly," says Silver. "I miss the girls. How's Alexis? Barb?"

"Alexis got a new part-time job," shares Patience. "Oh, and Barb went on a date this Saturday."

"Really?" cries Silver. "Wow."

"She just needed someone to love her the right way, and I've known Jason long enough to be at ease with it," says Patience, nodding.

"I'm happy for her," says Silver.

"I'm happy for all my girls who find guys that treat them with respect," says Patience. "Which I'm assuming your fella is..."

"Patience!" whispers Silver fiercely. "He isn't my fella, okay? But when it comes to respect, you couldn't find a better prototype."

She smiles at Dixon, who returns it fully.

"What can I do for you?" asks Patience.

"Jody," replies Silver. "I have...somebody that wants to do AA meetings. I know Jody's lead meetings so we came to get the scoop. She's meeting me here in a couple of minutes."

"Whoa, that takes courage," says Patience.

"It does," sighs Silver. "I'm so proud of her."

"Jody's in her office for the next hour," says Patience. "You can head on back anytime. You and your friend can have a seat while you wait."

"Thanks," says Silver.

Silver motions for Dixon to take a seat with her. He makes a grab for the same magazine at Silver, Silver letting him take it.

"Thank you," says Dixon.

"You got me here," says Silver. "I want to keep you entertained."

"Then you'd make me feel guilty about letting you be bored," says Dixon.

"You're right," says Silver, staring at the magazine cover with him. "Hey, I remember these."

"Mad Libs," reads Dixon. "Yeah, Annie and I did these during road trips."

"While I haven't taken a road trip, I can tell you that I'm a Mad Libs genius," asserts Silver. "I formulate the best stories."

"Mmmhmmm," says Dixon, flipping through the pages.

"Come on," says Silver. "Indulge me. Have to do something while I wait."

Silver eagerly digs through her bag for a pen, presenting it to Dixon within seconds.

"Fine, we'll try it," says Dixon.

For the next ten minutes, Silver handily supplies the words for the questions Dixon asks. She glances at her watch every twenty seconds or so, and then at the door. Nobody has yet to come through. Did she give her mother the right address?

"We're done," announces Dixon.

Done? Already?

"Your masterpiece," says Dixon, after clearing his throat. "Michael Jordan wore a wedding dress to the park. He scrambled pork and chocolate before he left and kissed a cactus named Sue. He walked to the Sphinx after the honeymoon."

Silver laughs loudly, barely hearing the last sentence. Dixon is just as bad, guffawing with each word.

"This is soooo epic," proclaims Silver.

"No, this is your next film," says Dixon, chuckling.

"I can't even get started on my documentary if Mom doesn't show," groans Silver, staring at the entrance. "It's what...."

"Eleven-thirty," answers Dixon.

"What?" cries Silver.

No, no, because that would mean her mother's thirty minutes late. Jodi would be gone in another thirty. Her mom promised. Sincerely promised. Silver tugs on her scarf, crossing her legs.

"Want to do another?" questions Dixon.

"No," says Silver quietly.

Silver stares at her watch, willing the hands to stop completely. They don't, not after ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes. Where is she? After the stunt she pulled, her mother should've been here at the same time as her, if not earlier. Dixon pats her wrist and looks at the wall clock.

It's almost too much to wish for when Silver hopes that the sandals sliding across the linoleum aren't Jody's. Jody is the only employee at the shelter who wears sandals. So her wanting it to be anyobdy else was like asking a toddler hopped up on sugar not to move.

"Patience told me you wanted to meet with me," says Jody, grinning at Silver.

"She isn't here," says Silver.

Why did she believe her? It's not like Jackie Taylor didn't act selfishly in the past. She could be working on her film right now or doing schoolwork, anything but waiting in vain.

"I have to take my son to his father's," says Jody. "But maybe later?"

"Whatever," groans Silver, standing. "It's pointless. Why should you, a good mom, wait for a bad mom?"

"Silver," says Dixon, tenderly.

"I hate calling her that, but....," says Silver tearfully. "She keeps letting me down! She says one thing and does another! I can't..."

"Let's sit for a sec," suggests Jody.

"Jody, I'm so embarrassed," sobs Silver. "Dixon, I wasted your time. I keep dragging in other people and...."

"We don't mind," reassures Dixon.

"Definitely not," says Jody.

"I have to go to the bathroom," mutters Silver.

She's unable to apologize anymore or say anymore, making the speedy beeline to the bathroom. Opening a stall, she slams the door shut and crouches on the floor, her scarf meeting the floor. She tugs until it comes loose in her hands. It's less than thirty minutes, but a while before she realizes it's not wet from the restroom floor but because of her tears, seeping into the cloth in silence.


	8. Confessions Of A Broken Heart

**VIII. Confessions Of a Broken Heart**

_I wait for the postman to bring me a letter  
I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better  
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders  
A family in crisis that only grows older_

_Why'd you have to go?  
Why'd you have to go?  
Why'd you have to go?_

_Daughter to father, daughter to father  
I am broken but I am hoping  
Daughter to father, daughter to father  
I am crying, a part of me is dying and  
Cause These are, these are  
The confessions of a broken heart_

_And I wear all your old clothes, the old polo sweater  
I dream of another you  
The one who would never (never)  
Leave me alone to pick up the pieces  
A daddy to hold me, that's what I needed_

_So why'd you have to go?  
Why'd you have to go?  
Why'd you have to go!_

_Daughter to father, daughter to father  
I don't know you, but I still want to  
Daughter to father, daughter to father  
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me  
Cause these are, these are  
The confessions of a broken heart_

_I love you,  
I love you  
I love you  
I... !  
I love you!_

_Daughter to father, daughter to father  
I don't know you, but I still want to  
Daughter to father, daughter to father  
Tell me the truth...  
Did you ever love me!  
Did you ever love me?  
These are...  
The confessions... of a broken heart_

_Ohhh... yeah_

I_ wait for the postman to bring me a letter..._

**Confessions Of A Broken Heart is the property of Lindsay Lohan.**

**What U Do 2 Me is the property of Boomkat.**

"Bleh."

It's the first word of her day, Adrianna weakly rubbing her eyes as her blanket slides past her shoulders. The bleh isn't because she has school, since it's still the weekend, and it's not because she feels sick, since she rises without any trouble. The word is due to the fact that she can't erase what happened yesterday.

Navid was his usual sweet self and she let her emotions go haywire. It's just that when she viewed herself on stage, she pictured one onlooker who wasn't even there that day. Constance routinely shows up in her mind, even if she's not in the audience, an imagined figure who evaluates her every move. Is her posture correct? Did she exercise her voice earlier that day? Does the shirt make her seem thinner? Things that were supposed to be seamless, to be fun in a play rehearsal, get looped in with judgements she's memorized in her head. She'd rather memorize her lines and enjoy the experience.

Adrianna pushes herself up, rising from the pillows and blankets. She'll have to get dressed eventually if she wants to meet Navid. But does he want to meet her? She'd basically told him what to do with his mockumentary, to cut a scene that showed his creativity. Sure, she promised that she'd help babysit again, but maybe he won't want her help. She sighs, tying the strings on her black pajama bottoms.

Walking to the kitchen, she hears the television and goes inside to find her mother checking her cellphone. Adrianna brushes down her bangs while moving to the cabinets.

"You slept in today," says Constance.

"It's Sunday," says Adrianna. "I got in late."

Constance takes the remote control from the table, switches the channel. A red-headed girl with brilliant blue eyes looks at them from the screen.

"_Cereal so good, you lose control_," sings the girl cheerfully. "_That's why I ask Mommy for Grainy O's._"

Her brunette mother kisses the girl on the forehead. Adrianna raises an eyebrow.

"With ten percent less sugar!" adds the little girl, giving the camera the thumbs up.

Constance grips the remote control tight, shakes her head and smiles. Adrianna laughs softly.

"I don't know what you're laughing at," says Constance, glancing at her daughter. "You used to get that kind of work all the time."

"Yeah, but I wasn't walking around like I was hepped up on marshmallows and sunshine," says Adrianna, pulling her own cereal from a cabinet.

"Were you even paying attention?" asks Constance. "To the way she delivered her lines?"

"Uhhhh," says Adrianna.

"What was her motivation?" continues Constance. "What was she saying?"

"Ten percent less sugar?" replies Adrianna.

Constance rolls her eyes, putting the remote control down. Why did her mom want her to pay attention to a cheesy commercial? Adrianna had read better scripts in her playwriting class at West Bev, where the scripts consisted mainly of killer potatoes (bad killer tomatoes rip-off) and jocks managing to score with every girl in the school (major wish fulfillment there).

"You loved doing commercials," recalls Constance. "Remember the one that aired a lot during the Saturday morning cartoons?"

Of course she did. She had to lick so many popsicles her teeth and gums hurt. Plus, the dog that sat next to her as she recited her lines smelled awful.

"Mom, I've grown up...obviously," says Adrianna. "Puberty. Like...I actually have...breasts."

Constances winces at the word. Adrianna shrugs.

"Those days are over," adds Adrianna.

"Possibly not," says Constance, her voice growing as cheerful as the Grainy O's girl.

Oh no, thinks Adrianna. That usually meant that her mother and her agent had had a conversation, a conversation without her.

"Guess who's got an audition for a Neutrogena skin product commercial?" sing-songs Constance.

"Me?" says Adrianna, her eyes going wide.

"This is a national spot!" cries Constance. "Missy's faxing over the script. We have to learn the lines by Wednesday afternoon, but..."

"I have play rehearsal!" reminds Adrianna. "And a project for my media class!"

"Ade, don't ruin this alright," says Constance. "This could be the break we get after we lost the movie, alright?"

We, repeates Adrianna in her brain. We, we, we...we! This is their career, never simply hers. She has other interests and other commitments that are important to her.

"_Spring Awakening_ is a pretty demanding play....," begins Adrianna.

"It's also a school play," says Constance, fiddling with her hair. "Besides, you've learned two scripts in a week before. I'll work with you."

"Mom," moans Adrianna.

"Do this for me, Ade," sighs Constance, her lips pouting a little. "Please."

What's the use? If she says no, her mother will just keep guilt tripping her until another opportunity arises. Some things were so repetitive.

"Okay," says Adrianna.

"Thanks, sweetie," says Constance. "You'll kill it. Oh, and...Dad sent you something. Check the mail from yesterday."

And some things came out of the blue. Her dad sent her something, actually remembered her for once? Today's not her birthday and it's too early for Christmas. Adrianna walks hesitantly to the pile of mail, starts to sort through the envelopes. She finds a small yellow envelope, with a Phoenix address in the upper left corner. His handwriting isn't neat, but it never was. In total, she's had about seven letters from the guy, arriving on every other birthday like clockwork.

"Gotta go to the restaurant," announces Constance.

"You don't want to see what it is?" asks Adrianna.

"You'll tell me later," waves off Constance. "Don't eat too much of that sugary cereal. We want you trim and your skin in tip-top shape."

Adrianna reluctantly places the cereal back in the cabinet.

"That's my girl," says Constance, grinning at her as she exits the room.

Adrianna rips open the envelope, and a piece of small, rectangular paper scurries to the floor in a flash. She bends to pick it up, reads the amount.

"One hundred and fifty bucks," whispers Adrianna to herself. "Birthday cash waaaay in advance."

Folding the check, she reinserts the check into the envelope and leaves it on the table. She's fine with not looking at it any longer. Great. Their relationship, if you could call it that, has gotten so bad that he now doesn't know the date she was born. Then again, he up and left six months after her birth so that's not that shocking. Her dad didn't hand out cigars or anything, or tell his parents, or any of that good stuff. So yeah, it should be written in stone that he'd forget the day sooner rather than later.

She hates that her eyes are tearing up, that she's alone as she's tearing up. She hates being such an emotional person, as useful as it is to be one as an actress. Adrianna wipes her eyes as the doorbell rings. After the second ring, she goes to answer the door.

"Hey!" greets Navid as soon as he's visible.

"What...what are you doing here?" stammers Adrianna.

Adrianna parts the door a little wider. Navid's mouth drops.

"Oh, you're...you're in your p.j.'s!" says Navid, blushing. "I mean....I mean, your pajamas. You're...you're not dressed yet."

While it's cute to see Navid fumble with his words, she didn't want him to see her weepy without make-up on. Adrianna tries to shield her face.

"I didn't know what time you were expecting me at your house," says Adrianna. "Since I kind of left, like suddenly."

"That's the thing, though," says Navid. "We're not going...to my house."

"Are you yanking my chain or have you been playing too much World of Warcroft?" asks Adrianna.

"World of Warcraft," corrects Navid. "As in craft, as in art. And...never mind. But I'm not kidding. Look, just get dressed and meet me outside."

"Where are we going?" says Adrianna, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

"You'll like it," assures Navid. "Swear. Oh, wear something that you wouldn't be afraid to get dirty."

She hopes it's not a pig farm, or a landfill. Adrianna shakes her head, finally throws up her arms.

"Fine," says Adrianna.

"Cool," says Navid.

There's a honk of a horn, both of them turning to see who honked.

"Navid, can I sit with Adrianna?" asks Parisa, her hair in pigtails today.

"No, Iman has to be in the backseat," replies Navid.

Adrianna casts a look at Navid's car, spying Iman, chewing a rubber cupcake, in the back.

"I don't want to sit by a baby," groans Parisa.

Iman sputters in response, smiling at her sister.

"We all have to do things in life we don't want to do," says Navid. "You'll learn that when you get older."

Isn't that the truth, moans Adrianna inwardly. What she does want to do, however? Get dressed and leave this house.

"Give me a few," says Adrianna.

"I'll be here, right here waiting...for you," says Navid. "Oh, I didn't mean to recite Richard Marx. Ugh."

Adrianna laughs, closes the door tenderly. Her morning didn't start off so great but that's the wonderful thing about mornings; they don't last forever.

II.

The fumes are really starting to get to her, Naomi lazily propping a window open. Of course, Margery is nonchalant to her discomfort, focusing on her attention to her toenails. Margery blows on her pinkie toe. Naomi worries for her white comforter, managing to scoop up the tangerine color before the polish tips to its side.

"Ethan is such a Vince Vaughan," moans Margery. "Although cuter, obviously."

"Him choosing Kansas over you is cringeworthy," echoes Rachel. "He's so a Vince, a commitment-ducking dirtbag."

Naomi had let her routine nickname for Annie slip, and the Blendeds had been using it for her ever since.

"Yeah, he loves stringing me along, ladies," sighs Naomi. "How about we take a five-minute break with the nails, cap those little bottles?"

"Sometimes you have to smack guys upside the head," says Margery, completely ignoring Naomi.

Rachel's not helping either, uncapping a bottle of cherry red polish. Lana isn't even involved, happily sorting through Naomi's CD collection.

"Oh, I remember Matchbox Twenty!" cries Lana.

"They're still together, Lana," says Margery, rolling her eyes. "But every plan has a back-up plan. Looks like we'll be doing Plan B."

"You're going to love Plan B, Nomes," assures Rachel.

Plan B? She isn't sure whether to think the plan will be promising or be yet another cause for embarrassment. More importantly, she isn't sure whether to tell them to do it. She has a date, a great date, but it's a date they know nothing about. If she told them about Ozzie, she'd get so much flack, especially since the Blendeds have spent all this time formulating ways for her to get back with Ethan. Then, Margery believes Ozzie shouldn't be a prospect by any means. Thankfully, Lana hasn't squealed. But what if she herself likes him as a prospect? He's definitely gone up in her stocks.

"What if we forget the whole thing?" speaks up Naomi.

"What?" cries Rachel.

"For real...what?" says Margery, her nose wrinkling.

"Huh?" says Lana, looking at them cluelessly.

"Homecoming is tradition for you and Ethan," reminds Margery. "I could see if you had a hot senior asking you to the dance, but like, you don't."

Naomi wonders if that's an insult, but lets it pass.

"Did somebody ask you?" questions Rachel.

Exchanging a long look with Lana, who appears petrified, Naomi stares at her hands, free of polish, in order to dodge the question.

"Ugh, you have to go with an athlete!" cries Margery. "We're all going with athletes. The yearbook staff will totally gravitate to us. Don't muck this up, Naomi."

"Would you guys listen to yourselves!" exclaims Naomi, then hitting her forehead as soon as it slipped out.

"Okay?" says Margery. "I didn't know popularity was a bad thing...."

Neither did she, thinks Naomi. She hopes she hasn't blown her one chance to revel in it. Realizing that Rachel and Lana are similarly awestruck, she has to recover, and fast.

"Nobody...nobody's asked me," says Naomi. "I'm...just sensitive about it. And...E broke my heart."

"Awww," says Rachel.

Margery breaks into a wide grin.

"So understandable, especially since you're only a sophomore," says Margery. "We're proceeding with Plan B then?"

"Yeah, proceed with Plan B," answers Naomi.

She should hate herself, and she does. Ozzie is not going to be involved in Plan B, and he's going to see her as some vapid freak who cares more about status than sticking to her own guns. She'd have to uninvite him. Forget the interesting conversations they had. Forget the kiss in the parking lot that made her want to do it again and again. The Blendeds' opinion wins, like always. Naomi lowers her eyes.

"Aw, Naomi, you look so sad," notes Lana.

"She won't be, once she meets Travis!" says Rachel giddily.

"He is so hot," praises Margery. "He's a junior and a guard on the basketball team. Ethan will feel like the small fish to a piranha. Jealousy will rear its beautiful head and Ethan Ward will want you more than Gatorade after a game."

"Ewww, Gatorade," mutters Lana.

Another scheme? While Naomi's been part of several of those, she hasn't gotten what she wanted at the end of them, and she might not be what Ethan wanted either. She'd rather him come to his own realization about her than only come to her because she appears unavailable.

"Are you sure about this?" says Naomi. "I mean, we're using Travis."

"Travis has rocks for brains," says Margery, clicking her tongue as she wiggles her feet.

"His grade point average is one point something," shares Rachel.

"He's really sweet, though," mentions Lana shyly.

"Lana, go call my house to see if my mom's home," orders Margery. "And if my little sister answers, tell her not to wear that fugly Team Jacob T-shirt."

"It's offensive to us, and Robert Pattinson," says Rachel.

"Fiiiine," moans Lana, leaving the bedroom.

"Nomes, I'll handle all of the details," says Margery. "Meet me at my locker after school tomorrow."

She's supposed to meet Ozzie to discuss dance details tomorrow. That would mean she'd have to find him before the final bell rings, and it would also be their final chance to start anything if Ozzie saw her and Travis at Homecoming. She doesn't want that to be the case.

"Guys....," starts Naomi.

"Yes?" say Margery and Rachel at the same time.

Innocent smiles fill their faces, as if they're not behind some scheme to pull one over on Travis and Ethan, as if they have been doing this their entire lives. But what did doing these things get them? The respect of the school and permanent popularity. Ozzie, she thinks sadly. He's the one casualty, the one wonderful casualty in this mess.

Naomi returns the smile. "I can't wait."

III.

"I wonder what happens if you spank it."

Ethan turns baby It upside down, laughing as the plastic infant wails. Dixon smirks as he sets two glasses of water in front of Annie and Silver. Silver slides against the chair, her legs disappearing under the table.

"Our parents never spanked us," says Annie, making a grab for the baby.

"Speak for yourself," says Dixon.

He smiles, glances over at Silver, and goofily grins with most of his teeth showing. She can tell he's trying to get her to react. She gives him a half-hearted smile, then gives up completely.

"Have you guys played Kick the Baby yet?" asks Dixon, clearly another attempt.

That makes Silver smirk at least, rolling her eyes as she does so. She sips her water.

"I've thrown him on the occasion," admits Ethan.

"When?" cries Annie, nearly spitting her water. "What kind of dad throws their son around like a football?"

"Maybe...like a quarterback?" guesses Ethan.

"But you aren't a quarterback!" says Annie. "Ethan, you don't have one romantic bone in your body. Unless it mysteriously comes into play at the dance, I'm not going."

"Oh, see?" says Ethan. "You're wrong there."

"Psssh, prove it," says Annie.

Ethan rubs his hands together, takes Annie's hand and goes to the CD player in the corner of the living room. Dixon and Silver view them from the kitchen. Ethan flips on the player, finds a station, and nods his head to a slow song. Annie guffaws. He puts his hands around her waist, Annie allowing him to sway with her.

"Wow," says Silver. "They look happy."

"They also left the kid," says Dixon, gesturing to It laying on its side.

Silver releases a full laugh then, straightening herself. It's refreshing to laugh. Ever since Jackie neglected to show up at the center, she's taken to holing herself up in the Wilson house, using the time to storyboard her documentary. While it was still in its baby stages, she'd gotten a lot of work done. Unfortunately, her bond with her mother isn't in its baby stages. The bond is remaining non-existent. It's almost sickening, that she got her hopes up that high. She should've been more cautious, more realistic. That's how Kelly is and she's not sitting on the bathroom floor crying. Silver pats the table.

"It and I have a lot in common," says Silver as the baby begins to cry. "Which sucks."

"Ohhh," frets Annie, rushing to the baby.

"You can't go running everytime the kid starts crying," says Ethan, clearly disappointed. "He has to learn to be a man."

"She's a girl!" exclaims Annie.

"No, she's not!" argues Ethan. "I mean, he....he's not!"

"Her name is Crystal Dream Ward," insists Annie.

"Who decided that?" says Ethan.

"I did," says Annie. "Hello? I supposedly pushed the kid out."

"Yeah, I guess I missed the imaginary doctor's appointments," says Ethan, crossing his arms.

"Must have," says Annie, walking towards her room.

"You know I can't go in there!" calls Ethan after her, following her anyway.

"I'm this close to asking for a separation!" says Annie, shutting the door on him.

"I get both cars!" yells Ethan.

"That's all guys care about!" yells Annie from behind the door. "Cars!"

"So? Cars are awesome!" shouts Ethan. "So...yeah!"

Ethan storms down the hallway, stalls in front of Dixon and Silver, who aren't able to offer him any words.

"Be a good godfather and try to talk some sense into her," says Ethan.

He shoulders his backpack and walks to the front door.

"I thought I was the uncle," whispers Dixon to himself.

Silver shrugs at him and starts to stand. Dixon puts his hand over hers.

"Silver, you've been quiet lately," says Dixon wearily. "I was thinking we shouldn't talk about it, but now I'm thinking we could, but we won't if you're not feeling that."

Her eyes softening, Silver lowers herself to the chair. That's so sweet that he noticed. True, she was quiet during their meals yesterday and today, and it did have to do with what he's been thinking about, what she's mostly thinking about since they left Jody and the center.

"Dixon, I haven't heard from her," says Silver. "Not a phone call or a visit. I've accepted she's not going to change."

"But you can't avoid it altogether," points out Dixon.

"Why?" says Silver. "She doesn't care. That's clear."

"You shouldn't leave stuff open," says Dixon. "Like when I have a fight with my folks, all this drama stays around the house if we don't talk, like some dark cloud."

"Dixon, your folks aren't Jackie Taylor," says Silver.

"No, I know they're not," insists Dixon. "But you gotta do this for you. Call and say you were disappointed, or that you're sick of trying. It might take the weight off your shoulders."

"That'd be hard to do," confesses Silver, her throat tightening a bit.

"That just means you should be doing it," offers Dixon.

"Let me think about it," sighs Silver.

"No rush," says Dixon.

Whoa, this is one of the few nice conversations she's had with a member of the teen male population, and most of those conversations were with Dixon. Silver allows her teeth to show in a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Ann Landers," kids Silver.

"Save the gender confusion for baby It, alright?" laughs Dixon.

Silver goes to the living room, suddenly noticing that Annie and Ethan had neglected to turn off the CD player. Dixon, who had trailed her, stands beside her.

"Can you believe your sister's going to the dance with Ethan Ward?" asks Silver.

"I remember when Ethan and I got into it on the lacrosse field," recalls Dixon. "And now they're the world's worst parents."

"They definitely pale in comparison to your parents," says Silver, refusing to acknowledge her own.

"Do you talk to your dad, ever?" questions Dixon.

"He's currently in Florida, and we don't chat, so no," replies Silver.

"Know what?" says Dixon, turning her around. "Let's take your mind off of that."

"How?" says Silver.

Dixon turns up the volume on the CD player, to a volume where they can hear the music throughout the living room. Baby pictures of Dixon and Annie waver under the steady thumps. Dixon was a cute baby, she notices. Has he always had those dimples? Her thoughts don't have time to answer the question and Dixon positions her in the center of the room.

_Who's that boy across the room  
Lookin fine from head to toe  
Hold my dirnk I think we need to be,  
properly introduced_

_You're beautiful  
I hope it's mutual  
Well if your down then i'll come down  
Lets get on down to it_

"We're going to dance," asserts Dixon. "I need some practice for Homecoming."

"And you picked me to do it with, an alien to public school dances?" says Silver.

"You played lacrosse, with no problem," says Dixon.

"Silvers don't have rhythm," laments Silver. "Except for David, but he's had the benefit of a ton of bar mitzvahs."

"I bet the good dancing blood runs deeper than you think," insists Dixon. "Besides, I'm no MJ either."

"I'm going to look goofy," says Silver.

"The goofier the better, Silver," says Dixon. "Come on. Bust a move."

"It's going to be so wack," assures Silver.

"We're allowed to be wack here," jokes Dixon. "Annie can tell you I danced to a Hammer song before. It's cool, it's cool."

"If you tell anyone I did any of this, I will toss your XBox in the pool," says Silver, bracing herself.

"My lips are zipped," promises Dixon.

Silver zips her own lips, listening for a beat she can mildly dance to, moving her hips to it.

"Okay, okay," says Dixon approvingly.

"Oh my...I can't," says Silver, halting abruptly.

"You can," says Dixon. "Whatever you do, I'll do it with you. Shake it, girl."

_Whoa whoa yeah, whoa whoa yeah (what u do to me)  
Whoa whoa yeah, whoa whoa yeah (i think i like it)  
Whoa whoa yeah, whoa whoa yeah (i just can't keep my eyes of you baby)  
_

Silver balls her fists together, moving them up and down, laughing. Dixon mirrors her, Silver grinning in disbelief. It does feel good to be a fool, and have someone willing to be a fool with you. Silver unfurls her fist, pretends to scratch a record.

"Whicka whicka wow," says Silver.

"Whicka whicka wow," says Dixon, in a higher octave.

"Heyyyy!" says Silver, moving her arms from side to side.

"Heyyyy!" repeats Dixon, doing the same.

"Hoooo!" says Silver.

"Hoooo!" says Dixon.

_You're a baby, You're a baby  
What ya do to me,  
You're a baby, You're a baby  
What ya do to me,_

_What u do to me, I think I like it_

Setting her hands on his waist, Silver continues to laugh, letting her head fall against his chest. Her cheeks are warm against his chest. They become more warm when Dixon embraces her.

"Thank you," says Silver, closing her eyes.

IV.

The wind sails through her dark hair as they leave the highway, or what she believes is the highway. Adrianna shifts under the seatbelt, trying to remind herself that she's still alive despite the seemingly never-ending darkness.

"Have any clue yet?" teases Navid.

"There's no earthly way of knowing, which direction we are going," recites Adrianna, giggling. "There's no knowing where we are going. Or which way the wind is blowing."

"Alright, Ade," says Navid. "I saw _Willy Wonka _too."

"I hate Oompa Loompahs!" exclaims Parisa. "And Iman did something nasty in her diaper!"

"Hey, calm down back there," says Navid.

"Or what?" says Parisa.

"Don't test me, Parisa Aliyeh," sighs Navid.

"Don't test me, Parisa Aliyeh," mocks Parisa.

Adrianna hears a light jangle and Navid going "Owww!" from under the blindfold.

"Iman threw her plastic keys at Navid's neck!" laughs Parisa. "Adrianna, you missed it."

"Thank goodness we're here," says Navid, pulling into what she thinks is a parking lot.

She's glad too, if only to stop the preadolescent torture of her boyfriend. Besides, she's eager to see what the deal is.

"This is payback for you surprising me on Friday," whispers Navid, undoing Adrianna's seatbelt for her. "My surprise is pretty awesome."

"More awesome than a Scorcese set?" wonders Adrianna aloud.

"We'll see," replies Navid.

Navid leaves the car, Parisa getting out on her own. She hears movement coming from the other side so Navid must be removing Iman from the carseat. Parisa opens the door for her.

"I'm good at keeping secrets," boasts Parisa. "I haven't spoiled it yet."

"I love surprises," shares Adrianna.

Parisa takes Adrianna's hand, and they go forward a couple of feet.

"Let Parisa takes off the blindfold," says Navid.

Adrianna stoops to let Parisa do her duty, the blindfold coming off carefully. She raises her eyes and views her surprise in full. It's a ranch, a real ranch, with horses going along dusty roads and walking about behind gates. Blue and purple mountains stand in the distance. A man in a cowboy hat goes past them with a plodding mule. Adrianna reads the large gold sign above the area. **Blackwood Farms. **

This is amazing, so amazing. The scenery is gorgeous and everything is so peaceful.

"Navid," breathes Adrianna.

"I told him you liked horses!" says Parisa.

"She did," admits Navid. "My cousin Nadia works here. I called her and she said to come on out."

"I'm going to ride a pony today!" says Parisa. "But Iman's too little to do anything."

"Except get changed," mutters Navid, patting the diaper bag.

Adrianna glances between the three of them, especially Navid's gleaming eyes and smiling lips.

"I do!" cries Adrianna. "I love horses! I love Westerns! I love it all!"

"Well, follow me," indicates Navid, allowing the girls to go first.

Parisa skips ahead of them for awhile, letting Navid and Adrianna be alone for a few seconds.

"So have you ever ridden a horse before?" asks Navid.

"A role never called for it," says Adrianna, shrugging. "So my mom never took me. I used to envy Naomi because she's been twice."

"I haven't either, so we'll be learning together," shares Navid.

They walk into the barn, Adrianna relieved that she wore a pair of boots she wouldn't mind messing up. True, they were nice boots that were bought with one of her paychecks, but she didn't mind getting some hay or mud on them. She sees a pretty young woman moving a handful of hay to the side as they approach. Her red-brown hair glints in the sunlight, and her complexion is flawless. She could totally be in a Neutrogena ad. Adrianna frowns, hoping Navid won't be as admiring.

"Hey Navid!" greets the woman.

"Nadia," greets Navid.

They hug, Adrianna feeling less awkward. Right, she's his cousin. You sure are smart, Adrianna.

"This is Adrianna," introduces Navid.

"Ahhh, I saw your sitcom!" gushes Navid. "So gooood. What are you doing with this loser?"

Adrianna strokes Navid's shoulder.

"I ask her that all the time," says Parisa.

"Well, nobody asked the two of you, alright?" defends Navid. "Nadia, could you get Ade started while I change Iman?"

"Yep," says Nadia.

Nadia steers Adrianna to the stalls, fetching a red helmet from off a post.

"Thanks for watching the sitcom," says Adrianna pathetically. "It didn't stay on long."

"Hey, quality over quantity," assures Nadia.

"Right," says Adrianna, brightening up a little.

"I think I'm going to put you on Cinder," says Nadia. "She's good for beginners."

Adrianna peeps into a stall, viewing a white horse with black spotting on its rump. The horse is calm, raising its head in her direction.

"She's beautiful," says Adrianna.

"And sweet as a peach," says Nadia. "Hold on."

Nadia opens the gate of the stall, closes it. She sets about her work, fetching a saddle and bridle to adorn Cinder with, tossing Adrianna the helmet after she's done. Cinder clomps his feet but looks somewhat satisfied.

"Cinder likes to be talked to," informs Nadia.

"I'm a talker," says Adrianna. "But not as much as Navid."

"Nobody talks more than Navid," says Nadia good-naturedly.

"Navid talks in his sleep!" says Parisa, skipping next to Navid as they return.

"Why don't you pick out a pony?" asks Navid. "And let Nadia lead you around the gate?"

"Okay!" says Parisa.

"Navid, I'm going to give you Brillo Pad," says Nadia.

She gestures to a black horse chewing on hay, gnats circling his tail. Brillow Pad snorts. Adrianna and Parisa laugh.

"Brillo Pad?" exclaims Navid. "Wait. Nuh-uh. Don't you have any horses with cool guy names, like Titan or Vlad the Impaler?"

"Brillo Pad's a sweetheart and he needs the exercise," says Nadia.

"Whatever," mutters Navid.

Nadia prepares Brillo Pad for Navid, Parisa watching her in awe. Navid sets Iman on the ground, Iman plodding around in cute pale blue overalls. There was a hole on the side so Adrianna's certain it's not as valuable as her other clothes.

"Would you mind watching Iman and Parisa while we ride?" asks Navid. "Ten minutes max."

"Sure," says Nadia.

Navid scoops up Iman before she goes any further, Brillo Pad following Nadia out of the stall. Brillow Pad stands next to Cinder, the two horses putting their noses together.

"They're going to have a baby," wagers Parisa.

"They better not," says Nadia, smirking. "We can't afford to feed a new one yet."

"Navid kissed Adrianna on the lips," announces Parisa.

"So?" says Navid, touching Brillow Pad's saddle.

"_Smoochy smoochy smooch_," teases Parisa.

Adrianna grins at Navid, suddenly thinks of a way to spare Navid from any more discomfort.

"I need help getting up," says Adrianna.

Nadia nods, helps Adrianna hoist herself onto Cinder. She then explains how best to make Cinder move and stop, promising her that Cinder knows the roads better than any filly. While Adrianna takes it all in, she can't hide her appreciation of finally being on a flesh and blood horse. The saddle feels weird, but she feels higher, grander like a politician almost, or maybe a queen. Adrianna beams.

"Navid, it's going to be a struggle helping you," confesses Nadia, taking Iman.

"I got it," assures Navid. "I...."

He has to stop mid-sentence as Brillo Pad shifts to the side when he tries to get on. Two more attempts are needed before Brillo Pad's stationary.

"I'm the Persian John Wayne," says Navid, grandly taking the reigns.

"_Please_," says Nadia. "Come on. I'll take you to the road."

She leads Brillo Pad out of the barn, Cinder obediently following. Wow, this is nice, thinks Adrianna as the horse moves under her. Better yet, there's nobody telling her that she has to do this. She wants to do this. She smiles at Navid from behind.

"I'd keep my eyes on the road, John Wayne," remarks Nadia.

"Yeah, yeah," says Navid. "We can take it from here."

"Nah, I'll watch you go back and forth," insists Nadia.

"Man!" sighs Navid.

Cinder goes to Brillo Pad's left, Navid and Adrianna side by side on their horses. She doesn't mind. This is a pretty plum spot. Navid must agree after the first few steps, glancing at her every now and then.

"I don't think I could've done this alone," says Adrianna.

"Me either," says Navid, looking at her. "As John Wayne-ish as I am."

"I'd rather ride with a future Spielberg than a future John Wayne, for what it's worth," reassures Adrianna.

"Sweet," says Navid. "Because that barn smell stinks."

Adrianna laughs. "But it's nice that we're here."

"My dad and mom went horseback riding, before we were born," shares Navid.

"If my dad went riding, I'd have no way of knowing," sighs Adrianna.

She didn't know anything he did, any hobbies, any interests. He's a perfect stranger in their imperfect family. Adrianna gazes ahead. She lets the wind blow through her body, staying firm in the saddle.

"And I don't think he would've taken me," continues Adrianna.

"His loss," says Navid.

"Yeah," says Adrianna, smiling with her eyes locked on a tree. "His loss."

"One thing's for sure," says Navid. "You look like you were born to do this."

"Maybe I was," offers Adrianna.

Brillo Pad and Cinder reach the end of the road, turning once they pass the tree, walking back to Nadia and the barn. Brillo Pad gets closer, eagerly moving with Cinder. Cinder's more than open to it. Navid takes Adrianna's right hand and kisses it. She's more than open to that.


	9. If You Don't, Don't

**IX. If You Don't, Don't**

_What's wrong baby_  
_Don't they treat you like they should?_  
_Did you take 'em for it?_  
_Every penny that you could_

_We once walked out on the beach_  
_And once I almost touched your hand_  
_Oh how I dreamed to finally say such things_  
_Then only to pretend_

_Don't you know what I'm thinkin'_  
_Drivin' four or five past midnight_  
_You know I miss you_  
_Don't you know that I miss you_  
_Ninth and Ash on a Tuesday night_

_I would write to you from museum mile_  
_A toast to you, your whisper, your smile_  
_Up the stairs at Weatherford_  
_A ghost each place I hide_

_If you don't don't know, why'd you say so?_  
_Would you mean this please if it happens?_  
_If you don't know, why would you say so?_  
_Won't you get your story straight_

_If you don't know, honey, why'd you just say so?_  
_Cause I need this now_  
_More than I ever did_  
_If you don't well, honey, then you don't_

_I left you waiting, _  
_At the least could we be friends?_  
_Should have never started_  
_Ain't that the way it always ends?_

_On my life I'll try today_  
_There's so much I've felt I should say, but_  
_Even if your heart would listen_  
_I doubt I could explain_

_If you don't don't know, why'd you say so?_  
_Would you mean this, please if it happens?_  
_If you don't know, Why would you say so?_  
_Won't you get your story straight_

_If you don't know, honey, would you just say so?_  
_Cause I need this now more than I ever did_  
_If you don't well, honey_  
_Then you don't_

_So here we are now_  
_A sip of wine a sip of water_  
_Someday maybe, maybe_  
_Someday we'll be smarter_

_And I'm sorry that I'm such a mess_  
_I drank all my money could get and_  
_Took everything You let me have and Then I _  
_never loved you back_

_If you don't don't know_  
_Why would you say so?_  
_Would you mean the_  
_Please if it happens?_

_If you don't know, why would you say so?_  
_Won't you get your story straight?_  
_If you don't know, honey, would you just say so?_  
_Cause I need this now. yeah need this, need this_

_If you don't well, honey, then you don't_  
_And if you don't well, honey then you don't_  
_If you don't know, honey_  
_Honey, then you don't_

**If You Don't, Don't is the property of Jimmy Eat World.**

**The Scientist is the property of Coldplay.**

She's not sure if she's gliding, or the car is, but frankly Adrianna doesn't care. Today has been the best day she's had since she left rehab. Getting the chance to ride Cinder, be in the great outdoors, and most importantly, spend time with Navid, was the most rewarding therapy any psychiatrist had never prescribed. After their ride, Nadia was kind enough to let Parisa get her turn on a ridiculously cute pony named Matches. Iman was content to watch her sister and make a grab for Matches' tail a couple times.

While Parisa played cowgirl, Adrianna and Navid chatted. She told him more about the birthday money and her father's lack of a presence in the Tate-Duncan household. Navid, as always, was receptive and open to any words she said, whether they were sad or resentful. It's the great thing about having a boyfriend, especially a boyfriend like him. However, despite the many pluses of Navid Shirazi, Adrianna can tell he's exhausted and glad to surrender the duty of watching over his sisters this evening to their parents.

"It's Barney, Iman!" coos Parisa, handing the purple plastic toy dinosaur to the baby.

Iman wastes no time in hammering Barney's head into the protective bar of her carseat.

"At least she can't break that," sighs Navid as they pull up to the Shirazis' less than humble home.

"When are Mommy and Daddy coming home?" asks Parisa.

"They should be here by now," replies Navid.

"Are you going to tell them how bad Iman was being?" says Parisa.

"I'll them you guys were angels...if you guys behave for the rest of the night," says Navid.

Parisa taps her chin, considering it for a few seconds.

"Okay," says Parisa. "Iman, you lucked out."

Squealing happily, Iman throws Barney at the windshield. Navid twists his lips.

The front door of the mansion opens moments later, revealing Mr. and Mrs. Shirazi. Mr. Shirazi wears a nicely tailored black suit and Ms. Shirazi wears a spangly green dress and several rings with jewels on her hands. Adrianna wishes she could hide her boots, full of dirt and hay. But it'd be rude to stay in the car and not greet them. They were so nice to her, and they expected nothing in return.

"Time to act right, siblings," says Navid, glancing at his sisters and then leaving the car.

Adrianna bites her lip and does her best to shake off the hay on the back of her boot after getting out.

"We missed you!" cries Mr. Shirazi, hugging Navid and Parisa once they've left the car.

Mrs. Shirazi immediately goes to retrieve Iman. She has the baby out of the car in less than a minute. Mrs. Shirazi kisses Iman's cheek.

"Ah, Adrianna," says Mr. Shirazi, gesturing to her. "Always a pleasure."

"Hi," says Adrianna as she looks between the two Shirazis.

Navid's mother is looking at a particular Shirazi, with a degree of concern on her face.

"Navid!" exclaims Mrs. Shirazi.

Her son glances from Parisa to Iman, Adrianna sure he's checking for some type of blemish.

"What?" says Navid.

"Your hair's growing over your eyes," says Mrs. Shirazi, tsk-tsking him. "I don't like my son resembling a sheepdog. I'll get you an appointment with Hiram tomorrow."

Navid clearly does a mental "phew", though he appears slightly bothered. Her mother goes to him and pushes his black locks back.

"Isn't it nice like this, Adrianna?" questions Mrs. Shirazi.

"Mom!" groans Navid.

"Yeah, he has gorgeous eyes," agrees Adrianna.

Navid winces again, but directs a small smile in Adrianna's direction.

"I told you girls like to see the eyes," insists Mrs. Shirazi. "Will you be staying for dinner, Adrianna?"

"Wish I could, but I have a ton of homework," says Adrianna apologetically.

"School comes first," says Mr. Shirazi, nodding.

"Well, anytime," assures Mrs. Shirazi. "You're always welcome."

"I'm going to drive Ade home," says Navid.

All of the Shirazis give her parting hugs, even Iman who interprets a hug as grabbing Adrianna's shoulder and not letting it go until her mother gently pries it off. Navid and Adrianna slip into the car and are heading down the road after a few minutes.

Adrianna truly wishes she could have stayed but she hadn't touched her project yet, and if she's going to do the audition for her mother, this weekend is the best time to do it. Silver's probably already started and Navid was in the beginning stages too. Ugh, the beginning stages where she told him to change it. Adrianna stares at the side of Navid's face. He didn't deserve to get chewed out because of her insecurities. There was no way he knew how forceful Constance was, how demanding. Should she tell him? No, she tells herself. Not after how warm and gracious his mother was...they'd feel bad for her. What would they think of Constance? It's not like she paid for her rehab; the Shirazis did. It's not like she sat around the table with Constance and ate meals; the Shirazis did. She doesn't want them to compare their family to hers. They're different as night and day, but the Shirazis don't have to know that.

"Navid...Navid, yesterday, about your film...I'm sorry I...," begins Adrianna.

She remains silent, watching Navid's headlights hit two swings in a park across the way.

"I figured something was up," says Navid.

He stops the car as the light goes red.

"The thing is...I'm not used to being told that that's enough, that I'm a star," says Adrianna, dropping her eyes to her seatbelt.

"Your mom doesn't tell you that?" says Navid.

"Not until I land a national campaign," guesses Adrianna, sad that it really is a guess.

Adrianna also guesses that Navid has nothing to say to that, as he drives the car forward when the light changes. Who would?

"I'm more into the play anyway, not this campaign," says Adrianna. "I don't know if I can do both."

"Have you invited her to _Spring Awakening_?" asks Navid.

"She'd just invite some agents," says Adrianna, shrugging. "I don't need the added pressure."

"How about we lessen the pressure and go to the Homecoming Dance the night before?" suggests Navid, smiling after the car stops again.

The dance! She assumed they were going together and was waiting for him to say something about it. But she definitely didn't expect to be asked tonight. And he's right. That would be more fun than poring over scripts and yawning through homework.

"Seriously?" cries Adrianna.

"My parents will want to take pictures," admits Navid. "Hope you're prepared for that."

"Hello? You're dating an actress," says Adrianna. "I live for cameras."

They exchange grins. Adrianna's grin disappears a bit as she sees that they've arrived at her house. She isn't as lucky as Iman. Constance's car is in the driveway.

"You don't have to walk me," says Adrianna.

"What if I want to walk you?" counters Navid.

"What if I want you...to leave your film as is," says Adrianna, putting a hand on his shoulder. "And we leave it at that?"

Navid smiles widely and kisses her softly. Adrianna lets her fingers trace across his smooth cheek and hesitantly lifts her lips from his. Bleh, the project is waiting, and her mother is probably waiting. Navid sighs and unlocks her door. Adrianna parts with a small wave and walks to her door. When she opens it, Constance is in the living room, flipping through channels. Good, she's distracted. Adrianna starts to climb the stairs.

"The Neutrogena script's next to your computer, honey!" calls Constance over the TV.

Now, she wishes _she _could throw something at that windshield - the script. Whatever. Her mom would _still _get it for her.

II.

In California, it's easy to take the sun for granted. For Silver, it's easy to remember the dangers of too much sun. With SPF 15 firmly covering her body, a white wrap around her navy blue swimsuit, and denim shorts over every inch of her thighs, she's taking no chances when it comes to melanoma, heat stroke or exhaustion, or a really bad sunburn. Dixon pops the hood of the car, allowing Annie and Silver to take out a mini-cooler with Deer Park water and sandwiches.

"We're not leaving this beach until you're officially cheered up," says Annie as she takes one end and Silver takes the other.

Dixon is the culprit behind this trip. Sometime between breakfast and Silver taking a break on her film, Annie had caught wind of Silver's mood change and roped Dixon into spilling about the missed Jackie meeting. They were good friends to care about her but she brushed them away at first. The emotions had already tuckered her out, and discussing the emotions further would've left her completely immobile. That's when Annie suggested the trip to the beach. It didn't take long for Dixon to say that he was in and of course Silver didn't mind having him around. She didn't reveal the second part to anyone; although, in the car, Annie kept pinching her elbow when Dixon would turn and glance towards her. Silver blushed and batted her friend's hand away.

"Don't forget your spawn," reminds Dixon.

"It's in the cooler," says Annie, lifting the lid.

Baby It, known as Crystal Dream Ward in some circles, has been put on ice. Dixon pretends to smack himself on the forehead.

"I can't carry my bag, my new sunglasses, half of the cooler, and the kid," says Annie. "So sue me."

"Ethan would if he could," says Dixon.

"Not even," insists Annie. "He's too busy drawing up divorce papers..."

Silver arches her eyebrows. That marriage went south...fast.

"Oops," says Annie, not speaking anymore while they walk across the sand.

The seagulls speak, their loud calls carrying across the shore. Teenagers jump on the two sides of a volleyball court, the white ball circling in the air while breezes shift the ball. The three of them locate a spot near the lifeguard's chair, which is empty. Dixon spreads a large towel on the sand. He's in a nice pair of black trunks, with purple lines near the waist. Silver noticed that it framed him perfectly before they left, but his parents were there, so she kept that, like so many of her thoughts about him, to herself.

"You guys want soda?" says Dixon, pointing to a snack shack ten feet away.

"Orange!" cries Annie, happily.

"Um, grape, please?" says Silver.

"I like grape, too," shares Dixon and then heading off.

Annie shimmies her shoulders.

"I like grape, _too_," teases Annie.

"Stop it," warns Silver, playfully shoving her.

"You're smiling," says Annie as she looks at Silver's face.

"Eh," says Silver, slipping on her black shades.

"Stick with us, kid," says Annie, doing a Jersey accent. "You'll be cheesin' in no time."

"You Wilsons make the Waltons look like the Mansons," says Silver.

"I don't know who the Mansons are," confesses Annie, ruffling her hair.

They look at each other and laugh. Silver removes her laptop from her bag and flips up the screen. Annie grimaces.

"You're doing schoolwork now?" says Annie incredulously.

"No," answers Silver. "But I have been neglecting my blog. The Vicious Circle hasn't been vicious in about a week."

"Who are you mad at?" says Annie.

The question is asked innocently and then her best friend hangs her head guiltily. Silver lowers the screen. None of this is Annie's fault. Jackie Taylor makes her own decisions. Bad ones. Silver nudges Annie's foot with her own.

"No problem," says Silver.

Annie grins a little. She removes her plastic infant from the cooler and her make-up kit from her bag.

"First and foremost, I'm lipstick-ing this mug," affirms Annie, sitting Indian-style and placing It in front of her.

"Why?" laughs Silver.

"That way Ethan will _finally_ know it's a girl," says Annie. "Obviously."

"Your kid's seriously going to be screwed up when it hits puberty," says Silver.

"I didn't see anything below the waist when I checked," defends Annie.

"You didn't see or you didn't want to see?" says Silver.

"Ummm, I don't remember," says Annie, taking off the cap of her coral lipstick.

The discussion is put to rest when Dixon returns with the sodas. Annie takes hers and Dixon sits on the towel next to Silver before giving the can to her. His finger touches hers on top of the aliminum, briefly. She hopes he can't tell how pink she's getting. If he's able to, she'll blame it on the sun.

"Thanks," says Silver.

"So is this usually what you do when you come to the beach?" asks Dixon.

He touches the top of her laptop. Silver shakes her head.

"Not usually," says Silver. "Uh, I'm kind of an...expert sandcastle artist. The Michaelangelo of packed mud."

"And she doesn't mean the turtle," says Annie, aiming the baby's head into position.

"That's cool," says Dixon. "Too bad we don't have tools. What else do you like to do? Volleyball? Surfing?"

"See, you'd have to be physical for that," replies Silver.

"Or having fun," says Dixon. "Frisbee? You get to stand in basically the same place for a bit."

"You could be good at that," speaks up Annie. "After all, you throw things at me all the time."

Silver takes the lipstick away from her and sets it on the towel. Annie pouts and finds her _Spring Awakening_ adaptation, then lays down.

"She's right pretty much," says Silver, standing and taking off her shades.

"Sweet," says Dixon.

Dixon quietly removes a red Frisbee from Annie's bag and walks with Silver along the shore. Children chasing each other race right past them. A couple with looped hands follow them. Silver almost envies them. She'd like to be that comfortable...well, with a guy. She hasn't even had a boyfriend yet. Should it be taking this long? Then again, it's not like she hasn't been disappointed by people she cared about.

Her thoughts evaporate as she feels Dixon gently guiding her to one part of the beach, where the water reaches her ankles. Dixon jogs to a space opposite her.

"The rules of Frisbee? Relatively simple!" shouts Dixon over the waves.

"I've played lacrosse!" exclaims Silver. "I'm not a sports newbie anymore!"

Dixon chuckles and tosses the Frisbee, the breeze carrying it in an easterly direction.

"Is this almost less predictable?" calls Silver.

"I think so," says Dixon. "I mean, with lacrosse, the ball has to stay on the field! The Frisbee might fly right into the ocean!"

Silver catches it with ease, smiles to herself. Heh, this is simple, but lacrosse was surprisingly simple too once she got the rules of the game. She throws it to Dixon in practically a straight line.

"Try and toss it to Hawaii!" jokes Silver. "I need a vacation!"

"Maui?" calls Dixon.

"Why not?" returns Silver.

"Alaska?" suggests Dixon.

"If it's somewhere that doesn't club baby seals, sure!" replies Silver.

"I'd go ice fishing!" says Dixon as he tosses.

Pouting slightly, Silver catches the Frisbee, her feet trucking through a muddy patch.

"Alright, I won't eat the fish around you!" adds Dixon.

"Good!" says Silver.

"So what are you?" says Dixon. "Vegetarian? Vegan?"

"Vegetarian!" replies Silver. "I'm thinking vegan once I hit college!"

"Well, I'm...hitting my stride!" yells Dixon, sending the Frisbee sailing clear past her.

Silver's mouth drops and she shakes her head. Dixon flexes a muscle with a grin.

"That's for beating me in the backyard!" proclaims Dixon.

"Okay, I see how you Wilsons are now," says Silver, throwing up her arms. "If I don't find it, it's all your fault!"

"See ya in Maui!" kids Dixon.

Laughing softly, Silver jogs along the shore, trying to find a hint of red anywhere along the sand. Her body sweats a bit and she almost starts to take off her wrap until she spies the red disc next to a green trashcan. He had thrown it very far. If only it were cool as Alaska near here. Silver wipes her forehead and bends to get the Frisbee. Dusting the sand off, she rights herself and turns. Alright, she really would like to be in Alaska, she thinks, taking in the sight.

In the distance, she can recognize her mother's short blonde hair and her black and white sarong she often wore at the pool. Jackie Taylor is sipping a fruit cocktail at a hotel bar, some man spreading suntan lotion onto her back. Is this what she was doing the other day, instead of meeting her? Drinking and letting some guy lube her up while she waited and cried on the bathroom over her? She'd like to toss the Frisbee at the guy's torso, give him a shock from behind. Rolling her eyes, Silver starts to walk, banging the Frisbee against her legs the whole way.

Dixon approaches her, beaming as his body moves across the beach. He stops when he's not too far from her.

"Alright, I'm sorry," calls Dixon. "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," says Silver, throwing a last look at her mother.

He nods and heads back towards Annie.

Silver takes a deep breath. "I found it, alright."

III.

"Annie?" says Silver, poking her. "Annie?"

Annie rolls to the other side.

"No, Taylor ," mumbles Annie, scrunching her nose. "Annie Wilson-Lautner will not fit on that marquee."

"Annie, can you wake up and talk with me?" whispers Silver.

"Of course you're hotter than Justin Beiber," sighs Annie, then curling up her body.

There goes that plan. Short of kicking sand against Annie's face, the girl is out. But she has to talk to someone and Dixon went to go rent a surfboard. Why did this have to happen today? Oh yeah, because she was enjoying herself. Everytime she's enjoying herself and hopeful about something, her mother has to pop in and ruin it. It's part of the laws of nature, one of the joys of being Erin Silver.

"They're out of boards," says Dixon when he returns. "I'll check back later."

He sits on the towel next to her. Man, she can't even enjoy the fact that he's beside her anymore.

"Don't sit by me," sighs Silver. "My luck sucks."

"Huh?" says Dixon.

Talking to him is better than talking to no one. But he's probably sick of hearing about this.

"I can't...," says Silver.

"You can," interjects Dixon confidently. "It's better than hearing Annie snore."

Annie isn't snoring, though she is breathing deeply and murmuring what sounds like sweet nothings. Silver undoes her wrap, gestures for Dixon to walk with her to the ocean. The aftermath of the waves lap against her shins and touch the soles of her feet. It's soothing, though short-lived until the next wave comes. She wonders how many waves in her life she can take.

"Something happened?" says Dixon, now alongside her.

"My mom...was with some guy!" exclaims Silver. "Like here, at an outside hotel bar!"

Dixon appears surprised and sympathetic. She's thankful for both.

"I swear that woman goes to some secret room in her house, and comes up with ways to make me miserable!" continues Silver. "She can talk to some stranger and not to me!"

"Is he a stranger?" asks Dixon.

"No, I guess he's not," realizes Silver. "To her. But...it's still not me. I don't understand."

"Maybe she got freaked because there was going to be a third person, Jody," says Dixon. "Maybe if it was just you and her...like at our house."

"She said some awful things when I went to get the film," recalls Silver, stepping farther into the water.

"Oh," says Dixon, walking with her.

"Honestly, if she wants something between us, it's her move," sighs Silver. "Cause I'm...sick of this."

"One day, my mom called in sick and took me to the beach," says Dixon. "It wasn't as good as it sounds."

Silver hugs herself, nods for him to continue.

"She was having a down day," recalls Dixon. "Really down. She asked me if I loved her. I said yes. She didn't say it back."

They glance at each other, and move a bit more.

"Mom said we'd toss seashells, and make a wish on each one," says Dixon. "She said one of them is bound to come true. The next day, she put me in foster care. I wished for a father and a sister. I got it, but not the way I thought I'd get it."

"Oh," breathes Silver.

That must've been tough, and then Dixon didn't go straight to the Wilsons either. He told her he had other families, disappointing families, until he got to Kansas. And her? She's always had Kelly, her one constant. Dixon's family life was up and down throughout his childhood, and hers was pretty good. Presently, it's the reverse. Dixon has balance in high school and she's scrambling to keep her family together. What are the odds.

Silver stoops, the blue-green water skipping across her wrist. She finds what she's searching for.

"You deserve another wish," says Silver, giving him a small white shell.

Dixon smiles and takes it from her. Silver revolves her own shell, as white as his.

"Do you say it aloud?" questions Silver.

"I did," says Dixon.

Silver releases a deep breath. "I wish thst my mom would get sober."

She tosses it, and it goes long until she can only see a tiny splash. Dixon stares at his, for quite some time, and presses it between his thumb and his palm.

"I wish...that Erin Silver would let me take her to the Homecoming Dance," says Dixon.

The shell sails over the water and drops into the depths.

"That's...wait, what?" says Silver.

She was entirely expecting him to say something about his mom or another member of his family, so huh? Silver looks at him for some clarity.

"The dance," says Dixon. "You? Me? Punch bowl?"

"More like bowled over," says Silver, trying to get it into her head. "You want to go to the dance with me?"

"Well, I wished it actually," corrects Dixon.

"I've...I've never been to a dance before!" cries Silver. "Uhhh...umm..."

"I know you don't like them," says Dixon. "I was just hoping...ah, forget it."

Man, she does not want to be the one who dashes his hopes. She certainly knows what that feels like. Besides, he's been wonderful to her the past few days, and even reluctantly agreed to do her movie, so shouldn't she do something for him? Ergh, she's "just hoping" there's no crepe paper decorations at this thing.

"Yes," says Silver, looking him straight in the eye. "I mean, yeah."

"You won't change your mind?" says Dixon, his whole face brightening.

"I think you're straight," says Silver with a smile. "Only..."

"Only?" encourages Dixon.

"Only I won't dance to anything that has booty in the title," finishes Silver. "Or any synonym for booty."

"So we'll be sitting for the most part," says Dixon.

They laugh, Dixon putting an arm around her. Silver wobbles a bit in the coming wave, but manages to find some steady ground.

IV.

D-Day. This is D-Day, as in date day, as in she's going to be set up by Margery, Rachel, and Lana to date Travis. Naomi couldn't sleep a wink last night. She tossed and turned on her silk sheets, and they didn't seem soft. She stared at her wall, which didn't seem smooth. She counted sheep, which did seem pretty pathetic. When she changed the sheep to cute little teacup pigs, the latest celebrity pet fad, it didn't help. There is nothing adorable about what she's about to do.

Yet, here she is standing at Margery's locker like a tree, waiting to be swayed towards Travis and ask him to Homecoming. Maybe the music flowing from the auditorium can cover the traces of guilt in her voice when she speaks to him. They were auditioning bands today and their tunes were loud since school was over. These unsigned musicians could do her a favor.

This is supposed to be a favor, thinks Naomi, so why doesn't it feel good? The reason forms an image in her brain. Ozzie. She's supposed to meet him today and discuss dance details. Naomi closes her eyes. She pictures him strolling down the hall, smiling, asking her about corsages and ticket prices. You could buy tickets today. That's why the gym doors were open. Naomi opens her eyes. There's a group of guys having a belching contest and staring at a girl's butt when she walks by. One point for fantasy and zilch for reality. Naomi lets her head hit the door of the locker.

"Don't dent my locker!" cries Margery. "It's the only one near a bathroom without a cracked mirror."

The three girls saddle up to the locker with perfectly matched white smiles.

"Hey!" greets Naomi nervously.

"Travis is on the horizon!" notes Margery, turning around.

Tall, with an athletic build, and nicely coiffed brown hair, Travis high-fives a couple of lacrosse players and bends to drink from the water fountain. Lana sighs loudly and turns the same shade as her gums.

"Make sure to mention basketball stuff," coaches Margery. "And he likes war movies, for whatever reason."

"I loved _Pearl Harbor_," sighs Lana.

"Lana, nobody cares," brushes off Margery.

"Flip your hair," adds Rachel. "Jocks love that."

She doesn't remember one hair flip that Ethan liked. At least with Ethan, she was interested. Travis is cute and all, but she hates war, isn't into basketball, and doesn't want the poor guy to be a pawn. She should say it. Say that you don't want to go through with this, she scolds herself. Say that you'd much rather go with the boy who asked you to the dance. He's so much more interesting so it wouldn't be a problem. There'd be no problem.

"This is a travesty!" exclaims Margery.

Or better yet, Margery can bail on this plan herself. Naomi smiles at her optimistically.

"The band that's playing is terrible!" continues Margery. "Who wants to bet they're unwashed losers?"

Rachel raises her hand without restraint, elbowing Lana to do the same. Naomi nods supportively, but the band really isn't that bad.

"Margery!" says Travis, waving.

Margery points at Naomi and gives Travis a wink. Travis looks pleased. However, something tells her that he'd be just as pleased to see a double cheeseburger waiting on a plate for him.

"Bye, Nomes," whispers Margery.

Two of the Blendeds rush to leave, Lana lagging behind and throwing small glances back at Travis. Naomi assesses her flowy gold top and black skirt, recommended by Rachel to set off her hair. In truth, the outfit's what she likes best about this whole thing.

"Hi, I'm Travis," says Travis, giving her hand a forceful shake.

Naomi laughs nervously, rescues her hand from the grip of death.

"Hi," says Naomi. "I'm Naomi."

"Everybody...I mean, _everybody _knows who you are," insists Travis. "I heard you liked _Saving Private Ryan _from Margery."

"Yeah...I just love...battles," says Naomi, shifting her gaze.

"I like it when you can see guts," says Travis, releasing a hard to hear guffaw.

"I'm not really a guts girl," admits Naomi.

"Oh," says Travis, clearly disappointed. "Decapitations are cool too!"

"Okay, let's...change the subject," suggests Naomi. "Do you have a date for the dance?"

"I...I have trouble asking girls out," says Travis shyly.

His cheeks grow red and he stares at the surface of Margery's locker. Awww, he is sweet. If you ignore all the war film comments. He's probably pretty harmless, and he did respect her popularity.

Or is popularity something to be respected, she thinks, a familiar face coming around the corner. Ozzie Cardoza moves down the hall at a set pace. He wears a long-sleeved grey shirt, modestly showing the muscles underneath, and black pants, a new pair of Steve Maddens on his feet. She wonders if he bought those after their trip to the mall. Naomi smiles to herself.

Then, she quickly attempts to hide. Luckily, Travis is easy to hide behind. Naomi positions him in front of her, Ozzie passing them and walking into the gym. Travis stares at her with amusement.

"Are you testing my dance skills or what?" asks Travis.

"Yeah," answers Naomi speedily. "Uh, turns out we're not a match."

"But Margery said you had something to ask me," says Travis, blinking at her.

"After...after the band stops playing," stammers Naomi. "Wait here a sec."

She has yet to see Ozzie ever go into the gym. He couldn't possibly be auditioning in a band. Although, she doesn't know everything about him. Maybe he moonlights as a future John Mayer or something. Whatever it is, she's intrigued. Naomi's heels clack against the floor as she goes into the gym.

Ozzie's in line, for dance tickets. Tickets! Of course! Why didn't that cross her mind? Ozzie checks his watch and takes a step forward.

Wonderful. This is wonderful. I could slap myself, thinks Naomi. He's patiently waiting in line so he can buy two tickets and save her the trouble. This is the same guy who treated her to dinner and flicked gum off her shoe. Of course he'd take care of the tickets. About to yell his name, the band starts up again, a slow song filling the area of the gym. Naomi roughly massages her forehead. Stupid band. They're assembled on a stage. Contrary to Margery's beliefs, they appear clean and have reasonably attractive faces. A young guy with fiery red hair puts the microphone to his mouth and sings.

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry_  
_You don't know how lovely you are_

Without him in Margery's room, she accepted the plan. She accepted it hesitantly, but she accepted it. With him in the same room, she can barely remember what the plan was in the first place. He did that to her. He made things fade. Still, she can't let him spend any money on her when they're not going to go together. How will she say it, in words, when she's not convinced, in her heart? Naomi slowly gets behind him in the line, tapping his shoulder.

_I had to find you_  
_Tell you I need you_  
_Tell you I've set you apart_

"Clark," says Ozzie, immediately grinning. "I thought you'd be at the mall by now."

"Didn't you hear?" says Naomi. "I bought everything, including your beloved, saturated fat food court."

"Interesting...how'd you fit it all in your car?" asks Ozzie, stepping forward.

"The same way I fit clothes into my walk-in closet," replies Naomi.

"Oh, I like to do other things in closets," says Ozzie as he turns to her.

Naomi rolls her eyes and smiles. He could be so snarky somtimes, but it is nice to have a conversation that isn't about guts and chopped off heads. What if Ozzie feels like he got his head chopped off after she tells him? Better to do it quick, like taking off a band-aid, though she'll be hurting a little too.

"About the dance...," starts Naomi.

"I got this covered," interjects Ozzie. "Oh, if you want me to meet your mom, I'm fine with that. I think of it as standard more than old school."

"That's...that's a nice way to look at it," says Naomi.

It is, and she'd be open to Ozzie meeting her mother. She wouldn't be as snotty about his family background...well, not as much as Margery. Wait, no. No, she has to cut to the chase. Her chest starts to ache. Ugh, even her own body isn't going to let her off easy.

"You look tired," says Ozzie, scanning her face.

"I am, a little," admits Naomi.

I'm tired because I got no sleep last night thinking of how I'm going to hurt you. The thought lingers until Ozzie speaks.

"You can carry off tired," assures Ozzie. "I mean, you look nice regardless."

Naomi blushes more than Travis did. "Thanks."

"Do you have your dress yet?" asks Ozzie. "I need to know the color. Carlos is going corsage shopping for Marci so I'll get yours too. It's cool if we go with them, right?"

"I...can't go," says Naomi softly.

But it's loud enough for him to hear. His face collapses into a furrowed brow and a firm frown. The expression is like a dagger to the heart, and she's the one who provided the dagger. Ozzie shuffles on his feet and eyes her for any sign of a joke, any sign of regret. No to the first, and yes to the second. She does regret it, even if he wouldn't believe that. This isn't the Ozzie who smiled across from her at the restaurant, who teased her during detention, who stopped her from hobbling to the fountain and held her. She'd give anything in the world to take back those three words and have the original Ozzie back.

_Tell me your secrets_  
_And ask me your questions_  
_Oh, let's go back to the start_

"Why would you say yes if you didn't want to go?" asks Ozzie.

Surprisingly, the question is not mean-spirited, more seeking than anything else.

"I...I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends," lies Naomi.

It's the first thing she thought of, and it doesn't sound any nicer spilling from her lips.

"So you waited to embarrass me alone?" asks Ozzie incredulously. "That's incredibly nice of you, Naomi."

This is the second time he's said her first name and she hates that it has sarcasm attached to it. He probably would've said it quite differently during the dance.

"Sorry," says Naomi, gently.

"I don't get you, Clark," says Ozzie. "If you don't want to spend time with me, don't act like you do. I already traded shifts with Ernesto so I could take you...you know what? Whatever."

Ozzie steps out of the line, gliding past the stage, and towards the courtyard. Naomi stamps her foot and follows him.

_Running in circles_  
_Coming up tails_  
_Heads on the science apart_

"You dared me to date you!" calls Naomi after him.

She stares at his backside, until Ozzie whirls around and returns to her at the door to the courtyard.

"And then I asked you," says Ozzie. "Genuinely. Excuse me for expecting a genuine answer."

"It was!" defends Naomi. "Then...something came up."

"What?" says Ozzie. "And it better not be related to the Blendeds."

"I'm so less shallow than you think," huffs Naomi. "The answer is that you put me in a really weird situation with your friends."

"Ditto," returns Ozzie.

"Please," says Naomi, crossing her arms.

"Next thing you know the Blendeds will have you with a book on your head, reciting _Legally Blonde_ quotes," says Ozzie.

"That is an _amazing_ movie!" exclaims Naomi.

"Oh my God," mumbles Ozzie, turning away.

Naomi touches her temples. Alright, she kind of missed the original point, but he can't keep throwing his opinions at her, especially things that haven't happened. Who's to say the Blendeds won't treat her better after Homecoming? They wanted to bond with her and have made every indication that they're going to do so.

_I was just guessing_  
_At numbers and figures_  
_Pulling the puzzles apart_

Ozzie stops, clearly unsatisfied with the conversation ending like that. Well, she has more to say too.

"You love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" shouts Naomi after him.

"Meaning?" asks Ozzie, looking at her.

"You criticize me cause I'll listen, but you don't criticize Margery when she's around!" says Naomi.

"Cause you matter and she doesn't!" says Ozzie.

Her mouth goes south, her limbs freezing. Did he say that? Did he mean it? Naomi lowers her eyes, and then sadly gazes at him. Her lips tremble.

_Questions of science_  
_Science and progress_  
_Do not speak as loud as my heart_

Shaking his head, Ozzie puts a hand against his pocket. She can clearly see a couple coins through it. He is touching the money he would've used. He probably earned the money from his job, honestly. Meanwhile, she hasn't been honest with two decent guys in the length of ten minutes. Tears fall on the length of her face.

_Nobody said it was easy_  
_Oh, it's such a shame for us to part_  
_Nobody said it was easy_  
_No one ever said it would be so hard_

_I'm going back to the start_

"I'm not ready for this," chokes out Naomi. "I'm not ready for you."

"I thought you were," says Ozzie quietly.

He walks off and doesn't come back a third time.


End file.
